


Give It All

by dronspy



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Ambition, Angst, Betrayal, Blackmail, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Mentor/Protégé, Physical suffering, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 40,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5558336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dronspy/pseuds/dronspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though she's still teaching at Coal Hill School, Clara Oswald returns to Eastminister College to complete her MFA degree. She meets her supervisor, John Basil Smith. He is considered a genius but often has trouble being comfortable around people. Yet, Clara feels challenged by him. Eventually, she realizes how similar they both are. So the question becomes, how far will their relationship go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clara Oswald crossed the threshold into St. Andrews hall. She was beaming. It had been a full eleven years since where she first stood, surrounded by the bust of some of the country's greatest literary minds. She was a bright and a petite young girl, miles away from her childhood home, clutching a beloved copy of Sense and Sensibility. She had spent hours, pouring over every important work of fiction. Hours scouring the works of all her prospective lecturers. She had applied to five of the nation's best literary programs, but has always desired admission into Eastminister College. After all, it was her mother's alma mater. If it hadn't been for Ellie Ravenwood Oswald, Clara would have spent an entire lifetime trying to figure out what to do with her life. Her love for travel, Jane Austen, writing, and everything that is Clara Oswald was Ellie.

Clara started across the marble floor and headed straight for the main desk. Here, she was greeted by a familiar face. Mrs. Hughes had manned the reception desk for over twenty years. Her time of service overlapped with Clara's undergraduate years. And as expected, Mrs. Hughes recognized the round face that appeared over her desk.  
"Miss Clara Oswald, what a delight to see you after all these years!"  
"That delight is all mine, Mrs. Hughes. I'm glad to see things haven't changed much around here."  
"We plan to keep it that way," giggled Mrs. Hughes good-naturedly. "I know that you have an appointment with David. He'll meet you at the cafe. You know how casually he likes to keep things."  
"Can't say I'm surprised," laughed Clara.  
"Alright then. If you can please sign this ledger, I've got the visitors badge ready for you."  
"Perfect," said Clara, picking up the pen. "It was so nice to see you, Mrs. Hughes."  
"The same. Thanks for stopping. Bye now.”

Clipping the visitors badge to her lapel, Clara made her way down the steps to the café. She studied the people around her. Students of all shapes and sizes, busily typing away or sitting about in various positions with their noses buried behind a book. Walking to the corner of the cafe, she picked an over-familiar spot and settled her things down. She scanned the people around her. She was mildly amused to recognize so many of them. _Her students._ Of course, it wasn't names and faces. More like, the kinds of people they were. If there was anything beneficial about teaching English for the past seven years, it was that she had become quite perceptive of people and their habits. She watched as a slightly overweight man with receding ginger hair and glasses approached. _It was David Spooner._ Spooner was the kind of man who felt it was his duty to be honest and straightforward with people. Though Clara respected him for that quality, she believed there are times when a small lie could do more to amend a situation then the truth. She remained unenthused as he made his way towards her. She reminded herself to smile and act friendly. _He was her only way in._  
"Merry greetings, Miss Oswald! How is my former student?" He boomed.  
"Mr. Spooner. Wonderful to see you."  
They shook hands. A waiter appeared, orders were conveyed. Small talk ensued until the coffee arrived. Clara took a sip of her flat mocha and kicked off their meeting agenda.

"I'd like to come back and finish what I once hoped to finish, Mr Spooner."  
"Yes," he breathed heavily. "I had hoped you'd come to."  
"I still have a loan to pay off. It can't be full time."  
"We can work around that. I can find a department scholarship. A young bright lady like you are-, eh, an asset to our program. Um, you proved that in your time as an undergraduate here," he bumbled.  
"Thank you," said Clara.  
"If you don't mind my asking, ah, what made you change your mind about coming back now?"  
Clara swirled the contents of her mug. _Now was her chance_. She looked directly at Spooner and said, "My mother died after my first year here. It didn't feel right at the time to carry on. Mum and dad were trying to pay off their mortgage, and after she died... I wanted to help dad. So, I chose to work. Now, I just want to do what I've always wanted: complete my MFA, write, and travel the world. To be considered a writer of my own right. All these things and so many more."  
"Miss Oswald," he heaved. "As deputy head of the School of English, I'd like to say: We want you, Clara Oswald. Welcome back to Eastminister College!"


	2. Chapter 2

The next few weeks were hectic. Clara was busily making the final edits to her portfolio, preparing cover letters, and making arrangements for her references. Luckily, it was still a full month till the beginning of the schools year. Even so, Clara still had several lesson plans requiring final revisions by the head teacher. With her first interviews with the three potential faculty supervisors just weeks away, Clara only averaged five hours of sleep a night. She was losing her mind. She was very grateful for Rigsy, Jen, and Lucy. If they hadn’t been around to encourage her, Clara felt she would have given up months ago.

"One more," sighed Clara. "Do this to me one more time, and I swear-"  
"Just not in front of Lucy," interrupted Jen.  
Listening in, Lucy chewed on her teddy and cooed.  
"What? Oh, no... I wasn't-," began Clara  
"Just being cautious," smiled Jen.  
Clara lowered her head, and gently knocked it against the table.  
"I. Just. Wanna. Be. Done."  
"Oh, Clara!"  
"O Ca-wa-rah," agreed Lucy.  
Jen moved over to the playpen and tickled Lucy.  
"Ha. Trying to imitate your Mama now, are you?" Lucy giggled wildly in response.  
Wanting in, Clara saved her work and shut her laptop. She walked over to Jen and Lucy, stretched out her arms and twirled on the spot, humming.  
"Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes and she's gone," sang Clara.  
"Lucy in the sky with diamonds," bellowed Jen.  
Singing and dancing about the playpen, both girlfriends swung their arms in the air and picking at imaginary guitars, all to Lucy's adoring squeals. No one noticed the opening of the front door, followed by the sounds of heavy boots being dropped on the floor.  
"Halo? What's going on here?" announced Rigsy.  
"Dada!" cried Lucy.  
"Lucy-goose!" He picked her up and tossing her up in the air. Lucy giggled.  
"You're home," said Jen. She pecked Rigsy's bottom lip.  
"Yea, but you didn't miss me. I could see how much fun you girls were at without me." He fell on the coach with Lucy in his lap.  
"How long were you watching now?" asked Clara, breathless.  
"Long enough," Rigsy pulled his phone out. "To be recording!"  
"Oi! Gimme that," demanded Jen, grabbing the phone.  
"Eh, look Clara, we don't sound bad. We should get a band together." She jumped. "Ooh, Jen, Lucy, Clara. JLC, what?"  
"JLC? That's so unoriginal," laughed Clara.  
"Oh, come on. We can make it work."  
"Jen, you're a riot. You are."  
"Darn, right."  
Lucy cooed in agreement.  
"Right, we've gotta get dinner set. Rigs, hun, Luce needs her bath already."

* * *

  
After dinner, Rigsy was busily tucking Lucy into bed while Jen and Clara stayed back in the kitchen.  
"Are you sure you don't want help with the washing up?" asked Clara, furiously typing away at her laptop.  
"No, no, missy...You keep at it. I'll put the kettle on."  
"Mr. John Basil Smith," read Clara.  
"Who's that?"  
"Oh, he's a faculty super' at the college."  
"Super-, like supervisor?"  
"Yep. There's only three of 'em. I've gotta choose one to supervisor my work."  
"Really? Let's have a look-"  
"Alright."  
"Hell-o-oh-oh. Clara, how dare you-"  
"Wha-?!"  
"Not share this," said Jen moving the laptop towards her.  
"Oh my god! What a sexy silver fox!" She thumped Clara's arm. "Would totally bang that thing."  
"Jen-" gasped Clara.  
"He’s handsom-ish. It’s all gone wrong at the eyebrows. Bit cross looking, innit?"  
"Oh my god, Jen! You're a married woman."  
"All the reason for me to say the things I'm saying," said Jen sipping her wine.  
"You're impossible!" smiled Clara.  
"Ha! That's why you like me. So, what you think? What do you like about him?"  
"Well, Mr. Smith definitely got the experience-"  
"No, no. Would you snog him if you knew he was interested?"  
"Jen, I think you've had a few."  
"I've only started," exasperated Jen.  
"Ha, ha. Pack o' lies."  
Jen raspberried Clara. Clara returned the gesture.  
"You know, I only walked out for minute. You two are worse than Luce," said Rigsy, walking in on them. "We're sisters, Rigs. The pants! Bff for life," rambled Jen.  
"Shhh. Keep it down a bit. Just got Luce to fall asleep."  
Rigsy moved to the counter and poured hot water from the kettle into three mugs. "You two sure know how leave a man out," he exclaimed.  
"Aww, Rigsy..." Clara moved over to Rigsy's side. "Lets' not forget that we were pals first, yea? If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have even met Jen."  
"I totally thought you two were shagging when I met you, Clara," sighed Jen.  
Rigsy and Clara gave Jen a hard look. Jen straightened up.  
"Um, not helping. Sorry-"  
"Look, Rigsy. You, Jen, Luce, are my family. And I never, ever want you to think I don't love you."  
"You saved my life, Clara. I'll always love you for that," said Rigsy hugging Clara.  
Jen stumbled over to them and wrapped her arms around them both.  
"And I love you two...," she mumbled.


	3. Chapter 3

_She was late_. Running up the steps, trying desperately not to spill her portfolio packets, Clara made a mad dash towards the large conference room. In her haste, she didn't notice the bundle of wires which had come unstuck from the carpet. She was halfway through the air, on her way down, when it clicked that she'd just tripped.  
"Would pay ya £30 to see that again," sounded a thickly Scottish voice.  
"Wha-?" asked Clara from the floor.  
"My, my, such a pretty face."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Oh, where are my manners," said a handsome high-cheek boned woman. "Are ya alright, lass? Perhaps we should check."

She watched as Clara sat up on the floor and inspected her heel which had now been bent out of shape. The woman clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.  
"Are you, in any way, experiencing a terribly empty feeling - in your skull?" intoned the woman. "Knew a man once. Before he'd pulled the exact same number as you. Pretty sure, he's still got delusions of adequacy."  
"Um, my stuff," coughed Clara.  
"Ah, yes. Your stuff. Let me help with that."  
The woman picked up a manila off the ground, glanced at the name on it, and ripped it open.  
"What are you doing?!" cried Clara, jumping up. "That's my property!"  
"Your "property" has a name ascribed to it. I'd suppose you meant that to be read by that particular person now, didn't you?"  
"Well, of course-"  
"Then, keep your bra on, Miss Oswald."  
"How'd you-"  
"Dr. Saxton-," came a calm and firm feminine voice. "Don't you think the young lady has been harassed enough already?"  
"Professor River Song," sang the Scots woman. "Hello, love. It's been awhile. How was Abu Dhabi? Turn out a little dry for you, I suppose. But then, we could discuss how you'd left your hubby _dry_ these past few months as well.”  
"I think that is my business, Dr. Saxton."  
"Well, I was simply making it a business to know yours." She turned to face Clara.  
"Miss Oswald, it is the very first day and you are late. Are you sure you want to be here? If so, do make an effort to be prompt. You wouldn't want to disappoint us already now, do you?"  
"I think she UNDERSTANDS," said the curly haired professor.  
"Good. I'll leave you be then," said Dr. Saxton. She turned and walked away. Clara noticed how no one else in the corridor made eye-contact with her as she passed by.  
"She's a dragon, that one," breathed Professor Song. "We call her, Missy. It's short for 'Mistress'. Honestly, we all feel kinked by her." She looked at Clara. "Sorry, I'm afraid I didn't do much of a saving there. Are you sure you're alright?"  
"Yes, I am. You did save me. Thank you, Professor Song!" said Clara as she thrust out her hand.  
"Miss Oswald," she took her hand.  
"Clara."  
"Then please, call me River. No need for formalities."  
Clara grabbed her phone which had fallen into a plant. River picked up the remaining two folders off the ground.  
"Damn! Definitely missed my meeting,” said Clara, checking her phone  
"Ah, I'm sure you'll be alright. Not easy being the newbie. Here're your folders."  
"Thanks. Again, I'm really grateful for the intervention."  
"Oh, hell yes! I'm all about rescuing damsels in distress." She winked at Clara, and started moving towards the stairs, before turning back.  
"Clara, just some advice. Do stay away from Missy. Women like her-" She paused. "A touch bitchy the first meeting, and you think, god, that's sexy. But she's dangerous. Don't fall for the act."  
"I'll remember that," nodded Clara.

* * *

Clara was exasperated from the whole debacle in the corridor. She had missed her first opportunity to meet all her fellow graduates, and now felt hard-pressed to be smooth in the faculty interviews. First day on campus, and she landed straight into the lair of the evil queen. _Certainly not a kindhearted lady. Hold on, hadn't she taken something?_ Clara flicked through her remaining folders. "For fuck's sake, no," she gasped. "No, no, no." Missy had stolen the packet meant for Professor Smith. 


	4. Chapter 4

Clara clambered over to the nearest waiting area. She felt the area behind ears become red hot. _Missy, why you-?! Calm, keep calm. Fifteen minutes_. Fifteen minutes till the end of her career. She was falling apart. _Breathe, Clara_. _Just breathe_.

She’d have to wing it. _Impress him_. But, how does one impress a genius? The man has _literally_ rubbed shoulders with John Byrne, David Ashton, and Sir Tom Stoppard. She was about to meet a man whose plays were produced by the National Theatre of Scotland and the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. Two of his mentees were renowned travel writers, working for the University of Iowa and the National Geographic. It was a wonder how he had managed to stay away from the limelight all these years. _Even Google was conflicted about him, there were so many stories about him_. Had he _truly_ reject an offer from the University of Glasgow? Her browser history was awash with the verbatim mentions of ‘John Basil Smith’. He was _everything_ and she was _nobody_. _Damn_!

"Stop over-reacting. Fake confidence. Having a bad day. Was on the tube, blindsided by a blind man and his dog. Lost the portfolio," she thought. She was a good liar. He might believe it. Alternatively, he might throw her out. _Genius equals massive ego_. 

‘246 E.’ Spooner had been kind enough to supply her with the location to Professor Smith’s office. And as per his directions, this office was just around the corner.

Clara stood with her back against the wall. She had to do it. There was no turning back. Slowly, she turned around the corner and stared down the short corridor. She noticed two doors, opposite each other. One was the fire exit, and the other was a _broom cupboard?_ Confused, Clara inspected the metal lettering on the door. 

‘John Smith, MSE.’ _He’s an engineer, as well?_ _How does this make any sense?_

"Here goes," she sighed and knocked four times. She could hear the sound of a mop hitting a bucket, followed by a collapsing tower of books, and a muffled cry. The door to the broom cupboard swung outwards, towards Clara. She flung backwards to avoid the door, and caught herself by hanging onto the fire extinguisher by the fire exit.

“Shush?” spat a gruff Scottish voice. “Don’t you, ‘shush’ me?”

From where she was still hanging, Clara observed the tall, lean man with a silvery bouffant. He had donned a red velvet fitted sports coat. She noticed as his gaze fell upon her. _Eyebrows_. _Oh my god, it is him_. _He’s staring_. _Cross eyebrows_.

“No; I only agreed to the haircut. The roots are off-limit.” With a sudden show of deftness, he turned and swung the door shut. Clara could hear the audible click of the lock. She couldn’t understand why he was talking about haircuts. _Bluetooth headset._ He was on the phone.

“Okay, see you later. Bye!” He turned to face Clara.

“You, rule number one, that cupboard is off-limits.” He pointed to his door. “No entering unless I tell you, and no picking up after me in there. Got that?” Clara nodded feverishly.

“Right. Rule two, call me John. I don’t like being called anything else. Why aren’t you writing any of this down?”

“Um-,” Clara fumbled in her handbag for a pen and a notepad. Once she’d located the items, she scribbled furiously.

“Rule three,” he said, now taking long strides away from her. “If anyone asks where I am, you are never to mention this room. I have an office on the third floor. You’ll be given a desk and whatever else you need to conduct your business.”

“Yes, sir--”

“John-. I’m not a military man, Miss-?”

“Oswald. Clara Oswald. My name.”

“Oz-wall? Unusual, but it’ll do.”

“Actually, it’s Oswald, um, John.” She shook her head. “Do call me, Clara. Please.”

“Maybe you should wear a label.”

“Huh? I don’t, um--,” Clara stopped and uttered a cry. John froze and turned to look at her.

“Are you alright?”

“My shoe,” mumbled Clara. “Broken heel-”

“Can’t do anything about that,” he said, walking away. “Life’s too _short_ to wear high heels.”

“He most certainly doesn’t lose a beat,” thought Clara. She swung her shoes behind a plant in the waiting area and skipped slightly to keep up with him. They tread quietly down the steps and towards the conference room. Clara’s feet ached against the combination of the carpet and cold stone. She noted how confidently he carried himself. _He’s got presence_.

Stopping outside the conference room, John turned to Clara.

“Right, I’m meeting a few prospects. I need _you_ to take notes.” He started rubbing his finger nails. “Note their hair, their clothing, anything useful-slash-practical.”

“Wait, you’re meeting the prospects now? How did they know where to find you?”

“Left a note on the outside my third floor office-“

Clara was wild-eyed now. “John, I-”

“Professor Smith,” interrupted Mrs. Hughes. “Dr. Saxton would like to meet you straight after your meeting. Oh, hello Clara!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I see you’ve met my new assistant-”

“Your assistant-?” said Mrs. Hughes, bemused. “But, I thought Kendra Dawes was supposed to be your new assistant. I just sent her up to your third floor office.”

Clara was coughing, loudly.

“Clara, are you okay?” asked Mrs. Hughes, kindly.

“Yes,” laughed Clara, nervously. “I think, Professor Smith here, may have mistaken me for the new assistant, when in fact… I’m one of the prospects.”

“Ah. Well, I’ll just go and make sure Ms. Dawes can find you all,” said Mrs. Hughes, walking away.

Clara looked up at John. He was blinking, several times.

“I’m sorry. I’m not what you were expecting,” said Clara, a touch embarrassed.

“I don’t have the time,” sighed John, rubbing his face with both hands. “You’ll still take the notes.”

“I can’t do that. It won’t be fair on the others.”

“Miss Ozwall, I cannot wait for this Kendra person. Do what I’ve asked and ensure there’s a mention of you in it. Ho-kay?” He paused, stretched his arms into the air, and cracked his neck. “Now, allonsy!”

John stormed into the room leaving behind a befuddled Clara.


	5. Chapter 5

Clara Oswald stepped off the tube at Liverpool Street and walked towards the exit. Glancing at her cell phone, she noted the time. _Perfect_. She had exactly 25 minutes to power through a mile of bustling school children and the morning traffic. If only her bike hadn’t a thrown a fit halfway through the street by her apartment. Stepping on to the pavement outside, Clara felt the sun on her skin. _At least, the weather was good. Ice cream weather, really._ Why was she thinking of ice cream this early? _Speaking of ice cream though._ Clara scrolled through her phone and pulled up Dave Oswald as a contact. It was ringing now.

“Hello,” scrambled a voice on the other end.

“Dad? It’s Clara.”

“Clara, sweetheart. Alright?”

“Yea, Dad. On my way to work. Thought I could call and chat a bit.”

“Yea, sweetheart? We’ve just sat down to have some breakfast. Eggs made just the way you like.”

“That’s awesome, Dad.” She stopped to wait for the light to change.

“So, what’re you up to today?”

“Well, school and drinks with the newbie after.”

“Newbie? Handsome, is he?”

“Umm…Yea-”

“Well, that’ nice th-”

“Dad?”

“Hello, Clara!” mellowed new voice. Oh, no. God, no. Not Linda. “Clara, dear! Are you there?” The voice persisted.

“Um, hello, Linda,” mumbled Clara.

“So, what’s this I hear? New beau? Drinks? Care to share some details?”

“He’s not my beau. He’s just new. We’re just going to, um, out. Chat about school stuff.”

“School stuff? Why that’s boring-“

“Linda, sorry. I’ve got to go now. Student making trouble. Bye!” Clara clicked her phone off. _Linda, ugh!_

***  *  ***

“Why do some people have to be so nosey?” asked Clara.

Danny Pink smiled. “Nosey? What kind of nosey?” He enquired.

“Oh, never mind. Just a thought.” Clara’s mind was slightly shot. _What was she doing?_ A couple drinks with the newbie and she was already letting loose. If she’d let slip her conversation with Linda earlier, there would be nothing stopping from having to explain Linda to him. Or worse, how Linda believed him to be her beau. She knew if she opened up about that Danny Pink would shy away. _Who wouldn't?_ He was the awkward sort anyway. _Kinda boring._ Talking about books and his stint with the army, but that was okay. She liked boring. Well, at least that’s what she told herself. He was a good listener though. She could tell that already.

“Nosey?” repeated Danny. “Have the kids been asking questions?”

“No,” said Clara. “Though Courtney Woods practically bribed the entire sixth form to launch a paramount investigation on Adrian because she believed he was some kinda of alien,” she paused. “Sy-deen, Sli-theen, or something like that. Ruby and Bradley bungled the whole thing when Adrian figured out they'd been taking turns following him everywhere.”

“Oh god,” laughed Danny. “Adrian, an alien? Might explain the bowtie obsession.”

“Hardly,” laughed Clara.

They had a lovely time. When saying good-bye, Danny awkwardly proceeded to thank her for the company and advice and making him feel welcome. He stuck his hand out. But Clara decided to kiss his cheek instead, causing Danny to blush. Clara made a mental note to herself.

“ _Melts when touched._ Can’t decide what to do with his hands,” smiled Clara to herself. “Awkward, but cute. Definitely date-able.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Clara Oswald.”

She was inside a broom cupboard. _Inside the den of the kraken, so to speak_. Eight feet deep and claustrophobic. When the door had first opened, she saw a small wooden desk and two IKEA chairs on either side of it. Walking in, she’d immediately notice the sink on the left. In it, she noticed two tea cups. Above the sink, there was a shelf that ran along the side of the room. She noticed how it held a kettle, a tea mug holding a toothbrush and toothpaste, books, a pair of boots, and a stack of clothes. Her eyes gravitated to the corner. There was a fan sitting on top of a mini-fridge. _How’d he managed to fit in a mini-fridge?_ Sitting opposite him, her eyes gravitated towards the right wall which was splattered with various posters, newspaper clippings, and pictures of famous people. _Was that a signed David Bowie poster?_ She’d placed her handbag on the floor. It was un-carpeted, un-tiled. She could see a fallen mop and bucket.

“You know-,” he twitched his fingers. “Why you’re here?” He was asking, _politely_.

“Being charged with crime of impersonation, I reckon.” exasperated Clara. His eyebrows furrowed.

“Tea.” He opened a desk drawer and grabbed an unopened packet of green tea. Then he stood, squeezed past the table, and made his best attempts to avoid brushing past Clara. _But, it was a small space._ Once, he was over by the sink. He filled the kettle and set it to boil. He was standing inches away from where she sat. Clara could smell him. _Fresh linen scent. Oh thank god. He does change his shirt._

“You come highly recommended, Clara Oswald.” He was staring down at her.

“By whom, might I ask?

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. He was avoiding her eyes. _Why’s he making this so awkward?_

“So, will you have me?”

“Have you-? What, for dinner-?”

“No, I mean…” She sighed. _Why was it so difficult to communicate with him?_ “Am I, to be, mentored by you? Will I be your pupil? _Your Padawan_ , so to speak?

“What’s a _Padawan_?”

“Never mind, what it is. Will you, or will you not, supervise my work?”

The kettle boiled. John placed two tea bags, in each cup on their plate, and poured hot water into them. He handed Clara both cups and fumbled over to his side. He fell into on chair, then beckoned Clara to hand him his cup. He placed it down, and looked at her.

“Isn’t obvious, yet?”

“Obvious? I didn’t… Am I supposed to be a mind reader, now?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Humans are far too busy with technology nowadays to be able to read minds anymore.”

“How’s that even relevant-” asked Clara, bewildered.

“Miss Oswald,” he took a sip of his tea and made a face. “Remember, how I explained my rules? You knew where I was before anyone else had a chance to meet me.” He cracked his fingers. “How’d that happen?”

“Mr. Spooner handed me a slip with this cup-, er, door number on it.”

“Spooner, eh?”

“Yeah. Do you think I’m lying?”

“No, no, I believe you. I’m just surprised he knew about this place. Thought I’d given ‘em all the slip with the fake credentials on the outside.” He opened his drawer again, and pulled out a notepad. “Anyhow, I think you’re good. Impressive portfolio.” He scribbled a note. “Writer-on-Attachment with the Tower Theatre folk, impressive?” He raised his eyebrows slightly and smiled. _He has a deadly smile._

“Uh, I never. Submitted, my portfolio. How’d you know all that?”

“Like I said, you come highly recommended, Miss Oswald.”

“Please, call me Clara.”

“Clara.” He smacked his lips, and scribbled a couple more notes. “Right, let’s get your life in order. You’ll need to register for two classes this term. Pick an elective, and for your second one- we’ll meet in here. It should be the required studio visits class.”

“In here?”

“Well, we’ll start here. Make sure you’re doing your reading. And then you’ll come with me when I’m out and about, and stuff. Now, I understand you’ll have to be at your school on occasion. But, this comes first.” He snapped his fingers. “Boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend-?!” snapped Clara. _Was this him trying to be smooth?_

“Well, if you have one. Forget about him. It’s all about the work now _. And about what I expect from you_. I have perused your work, Clara. I do believe you have the potential to do wonders.” His tone was deadly serious now. “The only question is if you you’re up to the task. It isn’t easy working for me. I’ve made stars out of my pupils. But, it’s never been smooth.” His eyes drifted to the papered wall.

Clara followed his gaze. _Of course_. _The Guardian_ article of his renowned play, ' _The Rose Garden_.' It was about a young couple who were holidaying near a rose garden, but hadn’t realized their son was deathly allergic to roses. After he’d come in contact with a few rose petals and died, the couple turned to each other. The play had ended with the husband brutally stabbing his wife. It had won both the Evening Standard and the Critic’s Circle for best play. It was snubbed by the Laurence Olivier, which Clara believed was unfair.

“It’s never enough, Clara.” He said, solemnly. “The price you pay…for your success. So whatever’s holding you back _, let it go_.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fourteen Weeks Into First Term

“So, what’s he like?” asked Jen.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. Clara, Jen, and Lucy were in the park. There was power-line that had gone down close by, and so they planned to meet Rigsy for a picnic lunch. Once Lucy understood where she was, she had insisted on feeding the geese.

“Careful, Luce,” said Clara. “You don’t want to scare the goslings, or the mama goose will peck you.”

“Gaw-zings,” said Luce, eating some of the bread meant for the geese.

“Infuriating. Slave driver. Mental.” She took a swig out of her water bottle. “Yesterday, he’d ask me to write an entire brief on Russian formalism applied to the earliest English translation of _The Cherry Orchard_ for his undergraduate lecture. _It’s fine_. I’m happy to do it. Right, in twelve hours then. Twelve, ugh, hours to apply/decode Russian formalism to a butchered translation of a Chekhov masterpiece!”

 “I’m not asking about your _precious_ , Professor Smith. I’m curious about, Danny.” Jen looked around to make sure Lucy was out of earshot. She voice dropped to a whisper. “Have you _shagged_ him yet?”

“Jen-,” gasped Clara. She also looked around to make sure they were alone. “I can’t believe you want to talk about this now.”

“Well-?”

“He’s shy,” smiled Clara. “And ripped-”

“Oh. My. God,” cried Jen. “SCORE!”

“Shh. Lucy’s right here!”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Like I’m not already devoted my life to pleasuring both Danny Pink and John Smith-,” whispered Clara furiously. She turned to face Jen, who now looked a little hurt.

“Jen.” Clara grabbed her arm. “Jen, love. I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. My head’s so full of Victor Shklovsky and estrangement theory. I’m all achy and breaky. And you’re the last person on earth I want to piss off...” She paused. “I share, have shared-, every detail of my life with you. Don’t have any intentions to stop that.”

“Are you done?” smirked Jen. “God, why won’t even you even let me be angry with for even a sec?”

“Because you’re my guardian angel.” Her phone buzzed.

“It’s Danny. He’s just texted. He’s got reservations to _Momo’s_ for tomorrow. He’s been dying to go, _even before he was deployed_. Swore he’d only go there with someone special. _Oh my god_.”

“Wha-, he’s proposing-?”

“No. _It’s too early for that_.” Said Clara, swallowing. “He asking for more. Christ, he wants us to be a thing! _I can’t do this, Jen._ I can’t have a boyfriend!”

“Ha, you’re joking right? You two. Are a thing.”

“NO. We. Are. Not,” exasperated Clara. “I’ve gotta say no. I’ve gotta say no.”

“Clara, NO!” She grabbed Clara’s phone and stuck it into the picnic hamper. “I won’t let you. You deserve to be happy. _Professor Smith be damned_. My girl, Clara, ‘ere deserves some happiness.”

Clara sighed. Her phone was ringing now. Her eyes widened.

“Why’s he calling…if he just texted?” asked Jen.

“It’s because that’s not Danny Pink,” she said, reality gripping her stomach.

Jen understood. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“He, um, can’t text. He has trouble. Texting.” Clara watched Jen’s eyes widened and a weird smile appear on her face.

“Jen, wha-?”

“Watch Lucy,” whispered Jen. She made a quick move at the picnic hamper and ran. The tones of the ringing phone dying with increasing distance.

“JEN, NO. DON’T! PLEASE, DON’T!”

She wanted to stop Jen, but Lucy was chasing after the goslings again. _The mother goose had been irked_. Clara made a dash for Lucy, rescuing her just as the mother goose came charging for them.

“Boo!” yelled Clara, stomping the ground. “Get-”

“Boo-,” repeated Lucy.

“Clara-,” said Rigsy. “Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Jen?”

Clara swung around quickly with Lucy, who squealed with delight. “Jen’s done it. I’m done,” she whispered.

“What happened?”

“Only the worst possible thing in the universe,” said Clara, collapsing on a nearby bench with Lucy.

“Dada!” cried Lucy, just noticing her dad.

“Lucy-goose,” he said, collecting her and kissing both her cheeks. He sat down beside Clara.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If Jen’s crossed the line-”

“No,” breathed Clara. “If there’s anyone in this world who knows what she’s doing, it’s Jen.” She smiled, as Lucy made a grab for her dad’s chin. “Rigs, your wife’s got killer instincts about people. And, frankly, I trust her. I’m just scared, he’ll go rogue on her.”

“Has he ever said _anything_ -?” asked Rigsy, concerned.

“Clara-?” laughed a familiar voice. “You, devil, still insistin’ on talkin’ to her?”

“Jen-?” jumped Clara and Rigsy simultaneously. They watched helplessly as Jen kept laughing, _hard_.

“Okay, okay.” said Jen, curling her hair with her fingers. “I’ll let you this once. Lovely speaking to you, Profess-, yes, John. Yeah, yeah. I’ll be sure to get your number from her. Wonderful, John. Later, brav-.”

Jen twirled on the spot and handed the phone to Clara. “’ere, he wants to talk.” She flashed Clara a reassuring smile before turning to her family.

“Rigs, hun-” She wrapped both her hands around his neck and kissed him.

Clara held up the phone to her ear. Nervous energy rushing through her body.

“Hello-, John?” said Clara.

“Hey, hey, Clara,” cheerily John. _My god. This was the cheeriest she’d ever heard him._ “Great girl, Jen, shared some hilarious stories.”

“She did-? Has-, huh?” asked Clara, nervously. _Neck. Burning_.

“Yyyeaa?” said John, confused. “You sound like people don’t do that sort of thing.” _Not when they run away in order to answer your phone._ “Okay, listen. This. Is. Important. Yeow-” She could hear him scuffle against a bucket. _He must’ve stepped into it again._ “Your third studio visit. Tuesday.” There were more noises. Like a mop had fallen and knocked some tea cups into the sink.

“John, are you ok?”

“I’m fabulous.” He paused. “We’re gonna meet first thing, Monday. Make sure you’ve read everything you’re supposed to. Simon Stephen’s notes should come handy.”

“But John, Monday’s _parents’ evening_ ,” said Clara, irked. “Need to prep the student evaluations. And, I’ve got-”

“Um, sorry, no way out. _This comes first_.” He clicked the phone. _Why does he always have to hang up without ever saying good-bye, properly?!_

Frustrated. Clara threw both hands against her face, and slowly knelt to the ground. She needed a minute. _Just one min-._ Her phone buzzed. _It was Danny Pink._


	8. Chapter 8

_Sunday Night, 7 pm._

“Twelfth. Date,’ floundered Danny Pink. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Our _twelfth night_ ,” said Clara, half-smiling. _Our twelfth night at a fancy place._ _Probably our last at this rate_.

“Does this mean-.” He looked intently at her. “We’re a thing now?”

“A thing-?” laughed Clara, nervously. _Oh god, no._ “What thing-?”

“Dating. Thing. Officially?”

“Why you like to move fast,” said Clara, unkindly. She watched as the color drained from his cheeks. Feeling ashamed, she moved her hand to his side of the table.

“Listen, Danny. I like you. You’re a wonderful guy.” She swallowed. _God, this is horrible_. _They hadn’t even made it to the main course._ “I’ve got stuff happening-”

“You knew.” He exasperated. “You knew- this was important for me. Why’d you agree to come here?”

“I was on the tube, and-,” She stopped. He was shuffling in his seat. _He was looking for his wallet._

“Danny, please-,”

“Why?” asked Danny. “Should I listen to another excuse? Another lie?” He was fuming. “We’ve been doing this for fourteen weeks. People, have been talking about us-“

“Since when did you care what people think-?”

“I don’t care about other people. I care about us-,” spat Danny angrily.

Clara had only seen him lose his temper once before on their first date. They were two very different people, but both marred by prejudice the world had hurtled towards them. An hour after she’d walked out, she realized her mistake and went back after him. _But that was fourteen weeks ago._ Is it possible that she felt different about him now?

“It’s not that I don’t want us to be a thing-,” said Clara, taking a sip of her wine. “I just, don’t feel. Ready.” She sighed heavily.

“Ready-?” asked Danny.

“There’ve been things, I’ve had to deal with. From my past-.” She took a sip of water this time. “And so, I’m not ready.”

“I understand-” said Danny, solemnly backing into his chair.

* * *

_Monday, 10 am._

 “Finished, have you?”

“Yes, I’m all read up.” Clara walked in and slumped into her chair. John pushed his specs up and furrowed his eyebrows. _Oh, he’s flashing his concerned look now. Can’t believe I can tell the difference._

“Alright?” he asked, tenderly.

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound like it-“

“If you were living my life, you’d know-” She said, curtly. Now fumbling through her handbag, she pulled out her laptop.

“Well, if it’s any consolation. You’re practically at the top of your class. Yay!”

“It’s warm in here.”

“Then leave the door open- a crack!”

She pushed the door open with her foot. _Why the hell were they in a cupboard? His “fake” office practically took up the entire third floor._

“No one bothers us when we’re down here-,” said John, sourly.

“Said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” He was frowning now.

“Look-,” she sighed. “I was just expressing a, um, an honest… opinion.”

“Good,” he sighed. “Honest might be the best policy, but _insanity_ is the best defense.”

“Are you calling me ‘insane’?”

“To quote, a _once_ wise and intelligent man,” he looked into her eyes. “There's a fine line between genius and insanity.”

“Alright, who was this and what happened to him,” enquired Clara.

“Oscar Levant. He went mad and died… _fait accompli_.”

“Christ-!” swore Clara.

“Are you praying?”

“Okay, okay, just stop!” cried Clara. “Can we just get on with what we have to do today? I still have seven reports I need to complete before parents’ evening. Please. Can we just get on?”

“Alright,” sighed John. “Clara Oswald. Have you completed your entire reading?”

“Yes.”

“Could you, if I forced you, to write an analytical treatise on every _British_ translation of _The Cherry Orchard_?”

“Yes,” sighed Clara. “Are you going to make me?”

“That depends,” he said.

John’s jaw moved sideways, a finger moved to his mouth, as if to hide a smile. But Clara remained focused on his eyes. _They were twinkling_. He was standing up now. His feet were parted in dramatic fashion. _Was he about to make an announcement?_ Clara’s eyes widened.

“ _Peter McDougall_. _Robin Lefevre_. The Citz’ of Glasgow. _The Cherry Orchard_. _Coming Soon_ ,” said John smoothly, in his thickly Glaswegian brogue.

“What-?” laughed Clara.

She was surprised _and grateful_ for the sudden change in mood. Even the cupboard appeared to have brightened up suddenly. John clapped his hands and sat down. His hands were folded across the table and he now looked intently at Clara. His mouth agape.

“Tomorrow. 8 pm. A reception at The Citizen’s Theatre in Glasgow, announcing the launch of the Peter McDougall translation of Anton Chekhov’s famous play, _The Cherry Orchard_ , which is to be directed by Robin Lefevre.” He paused dramatically. “And that’s not all. IJoST would like the-soon-to-be-renowned theatre scholar _Clara Oswald_ to publish her treatise on the cultural impact of Chekhov’s play on British culture, inclusive of the McDougall-Lefevre adaptation. Which means…”

“Which means,” asked Clara, cautiously.

“We’ve been invited. I’ve got a doubling booking on _The Caledonian Sleeper_. We’re leaving right after your meeting tonight. Breakfast on the train. Interviews with both McDougall and Lefevre at brunch. Then, the entire afternoon to explore Glasgow until the reception.”

Clara gasped. “I, I-… I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, say ‘yes’ for a start. Now head home. I’ll see you tonight at Eutson Station. 10 pm. I’ve already emailed you the details.”

“You-, you-, email?” swallowed Clara. Her head was in the clouds.

“Yeah. I do. It’s like… Magic,” said John, wiggling his fingers.


	9. Chapter 9

_Monday, 11:20 pm._

Clara Oswald had been experiencing a euphoric high for most of the evening. Of course, it was a tad-bit embarrassing for Adrian Davies, when he’d realize Clara had made a beeline for Danny’s mouth upon entering the breakroom. Since her meeting with John, she felt pride flooding her veins, keeping her _wholly intoxicated_. Even Courtney Woods’ parents couldn’t help notice how _exceptionally_ cheerful Clara was, electing to make a formal complaint to head teacher Armitage about it. But since her meeting with John, she could only feel pride flooding her veins and keeping her intoxicated.

Forty-five minutes before their departure, John and Clara boarded the sleeper, found their berths, and met in the lounge car for drinks. Once seated, John pulled out his moleskin and started to sketch _inconspicuously_. Clara ignored him, letting her eyes wander around the car. A handful of people had boarded with them. The lounge car itself was narrow; bumping into people was unavoidable. Even so, the wooded interior overlaid with the delicate-looking gold designs were rather, _elegant_. Minutes away from departure, a service attendant appeared with the drinks menu. Clara opted for a delicate red Merlot, while he settled with a light caramel colored malt Balblair. _Essentially, John Basil Smith with a hint of apricots, butterscotch, honey, citrus._

Perked up, and her wine glass running on empty, Clara settled to pass her time by taking an occasional sideways glance at John. She noticed his favorite graphic tee crest from under the nicely cut navy blazer. His cashmere-wool scarf was lying beside him. His hair had been clipped now, but his roots remained as they were. The beginnings of a bristly stubble. _Salt and pepper. Christ!_

“Question,” stated John. “What is it that _Clara Oswald_ finds most alluring, the chance for a new beginning, or the chance to confront her foibles?” His eyes were peaking above his specs.

“Conjecture,” she replied. “Like John Smith gives a damn.” Her eyes were sparkling now.

“I do get curious-”

“Why’d you choose me?”

“How’d you find my cupboard?”

 “It was Spooner.”

“Ah, the Saxton pawn. Spooner.” said John, emptying his glass.

“You mean, Missy.”

“’Missy’…,” smiled John. “Is that what her friends call her?”

“Got that one from the grapevine. But you’re avoiding my question.”

“Yes,” nodded John. “ _I learnt about you from my last nightmare_.”

“Tell me, are you always this difficult?”

“You’re the vintner. You, tell me.”

“Tell you about, you?”

“Yes-”

“ _Grey-haired stick insect_ -,” thought Clara. She continued out-loud.

“Glasgow-born. Attended University of Glasgow. Started at the Tron Theater. Um, labelled an _eccentric_ , even a g _enius_ by your contemporaries. Moved to London, more plays for theatre, radio, television. More awards. _But_ _always_ _wary of public attention_. Several tabloid rumors of a girlfriend or two, perhaps a wife, but no rings or children. So that’s disputed.” She pointed to his left hand, which moved steadily across the notebook.

“You took a seven year hiatus before _Rose_ made its debut. By then, you accepted the post at Eastminister College and have mentored several successful people since. So, here you are, award-winning playwright and unsung British national treasure. And despite all this…”

“Despite all this-?” asked John, folding his notebook.

“You remain a mystery. And…quite impossible-” murmured Clara.

“Never doubt it, Clara Oswald. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.” He pocketed his notebook and walked away.

“ _Damn_ ,” thought Clara.

* * *

_Tuesday, 4:20 pm._

“Just a little further. I swear it’s around the corner.”

“God! That curry was to die for. But surely it didn’t mean death itself,” said Clara, as she grabbed John’s arm. She noticed an inaudible panic across John’s face.

“To quote a now-dead man,” noted John. “Constipation is a sign of good health in Pomeranians.”

“Shut up!”

“Yes, boss.”

* * *

_Tuesday, 9:45 pm._

_It had been a glorious evening_. Clara was taken in by the simple Victorian look of the auditorium and rehearsal rooms of The Citizen’s Theatre. Her lunchtime interviews with both McDougall and Lefevre had been perfect, albeit upsetting for her stomach. But now, walking arm in arm with John, she was thrilled. He was much more relaxed this time, compared to earlier when he looked clueless helping Clara around on his arm. For one thing, she and John fit handsomely as a couple beside the gothic backdrop of the floor and ceiling. Yet, Clara noticed how tense John would become when people either recognized or approached him. Twice, she rescued him from busybodies by masquerading as his girlfriend. Now, walking back to their hotel, John had fallen into a cheerier mood. So much so, he was singing.

“Ah sing of a rivahh-,” sang John. “Ah am happy beside. The song tha’ ah sing is the song of tha’ Clyde.”

“Stop, you sound terrible.”

“I-, I do?”

“Please. The accent’s enough.”

“Okay, okay. But remember, ye can take the boy out of Glasgow-”

 “I understand,” sighed Clara.

“Gawd, I could kill for another pint-”

“We could. I’d love to get a pint with you, John.”

“Really-?” laughed John. “There’s a pub close. Although-”

“Although-?”

“Well, um, it’s your hair.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah. You, um, changed it from this morning.”

“Well, of course I did.”

“It-, it-… your eyes. Um, you look different-slash-nice. Nicely-different. There.”

“John,” said Clara, her lips slightly pursed. “What does this have to do with getting a pint?”

“Well, you know, tabloids perhaps… Eccentric old playwright, and his, um, young mistress.”

“Ah, well,” she said, punching his arm. “We’d have to play our part, wouldn’t we?”

“Pack quite a punch for a little lass-,” mumbled John, massaging his bruised arm.

“My granddad was Scottish, you know. Never visited here though.”

“Is that so?” asked John. “Why, lass, I’ll be honored to give you a city boy tour. Just spare me from queries ‘bout the Highlands. And it’s ‘granda’ not ‘granddad’.”

“O-kay. What’s first?”

“Currently, we’re crossin’ the Clyde. But straight up, on our left, right there-,” rambled John. “The Tron Theatre. My first home, away from home.”

“Ah, you mean, the location of your first broom cupboard-”

“Nooo,” replied John, slightly piqued. “ _Do I pay you?_ _I should give you a raise_.”

“You couldn’t afford me.”

* * *

_Wednesday, 12:45 am_

“By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,” sang John, loudly. “Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond, Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae…”

“Shut up, ya fucker!” yelled a stranger.

“Happy birthday, ya rude div!” shouted John, in return. He twirled on the spot and continued, “Clara, where’s my Clara?!”

“Present.” cried Clara, from behind him. It was sprinkling now. But neither of them noticed. Clara skipped to keep up John.

“In-in-ebriated yet?” asked Clara. She slumped into him. John stumbled slightly, but managed to keep balance.

“Aye, Clara, my bonnie lass. Aye, ah jaked,” cackled John.

“Ha-,” cried Clara. She took a more solemn tone. “Johnnie, th-th-ank-you.”

John stopped and looked at Clara. He made a face. _It was his confused-slash-pleased face_.

“Why’re yooou tha-thanking me?”

“’Cuz yooou, maaate, did ALL this for me.”

“Well,” stuttered John. “Given tha’ ah am… slave driver-”

“Yoou weren’t supposed to ‘ere that. Private thought-” grumbled Clara. “Yoou shouldn't care what I think.”

“Yyou… dinnae understand-,” mumbled John.

They cleared the entrance and were now standing in the hotel lobby. John placed his hands on Clara’s arms, as if to steady her. Clara blinked several times before her eyes adjusted to the brighter lobby lights.

“Clara,” said John with a sober voice. “Clara, ah do care. What you think. No point- workin’ if I dinnae care, aboot yoou, or, what bothers yoou.”

“Really-?” asked Clara, smiling.

“Aye, ah do. ‘Ave a duty of care.”

John stretched out his hand. Eyeing him, Clara ignored the hand, and pulled him down by the lapels to gently peck his cheek.

“Tha-thank you, John. I ‘ad a lov-ly time. G’nite.”

Lost for words, John simply stared at Clara, and long after she had stepped into the elevator. _It would soon be time to catch the 6 AM flight to London._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People, I lied. The next chapter, actually any chapter from here on out, it's gonna be difficult. Forgive me if I delay things. XD


	10. Chapter 10

“Remind me never to have kids,” whispered Clara, furiously

“You don’t mean that,” said Danny, tenderly. He let his fingers brush her hand.

“I’m sorry-,” sighed Clara. “Can’t deal with Bradley anymore.”

“I’ll handle him. Watch Mohammad. I swear he’ll dig out the entire garden to spite Atif if no one’s watching.”

“Ha-,” cried Clara. Maybe we should let ‘im. Be good for a change. Atif’s a first rate caretaker. Plenty of chores to punish the monkeys.”

“Well, I’ll leave you in-charge. Love you-”

Clara smiled as Danny hurried over towards Bradley and co. _He’s always so protective of children_. On several occasions, she noticed how upset he got simply watching the news with the mere mention of a child. She had even accidentally discovered his several hundred worth of donations to several children's funds while cleaning his bedroom. Her arms quivered slightly. _Should she tell Danny about what she had found?_ She was in too deep with him now. 

Only four nights ago, they were eating dinner at her place, talking about Glasgow and John, when she first noticed his restlessness. She knew he was listening, _carefully_ , because every time she mentioned ‘Glasgow’ or ‘John’, she felt Danny sour slightly like a jealous boyfriend. Oddly, she didn’t suspect why he was acting that way. She did spend most of her waking hours with him, after homework, John, teaching, Jen, Lucy, Rigsy,  _perhaps that wasn’t a whole lot of time._  They had moved to the balcony for a drink, when Danny first said it. _It was a tickling feel._ _Love_. She hadn’t felt it, like that, not since third grade. She knew she wanted to keep him. So, she said it. _I love you too, Danny Pink._

“Sorry to interrupt your quiet time, Miss Oswald,” spoke a heavy voice.

“Quiet time?” said Clara as she spun around. _How can recess be quiet time?_ “Mr. Armitage, um, what can I do for you?”

“So, the NAHT called-,” huffed Mr. Armitage.

“Sorry, too many acronyms to keep up with. Who are they?” sighed Clara.

“The head teacher’s council, or is it a board? National association!”

“Yes-,” said Clara, rather impatiently.

“Career day. They’d like us to host a career day at Coal Hill for the neighboring schools. Now, I know, you’re incredibly busy-” Clara’s eyes were narrowing. “But, I’m just asking that you help with a really, really small part.”

“And what’s that?”

“Organize a reception, soiree… Not fancy. Just enough to thank the volunteers for coming arriving to career day.”

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“You’re a wonderful, kind woman, Miss Oswald.” He turned to walk away before turning right around. “There’s one more thing. We’ll need to enlist someone high-profile to fatten numbers of people representing the humanities. NAHT recommended an archaeologist from MOLA…” Mr. Armitage dug into his pockets, pulling out a piece of paper, he glanced at it before handing it to Clara.

“A Professor River Song, unusual name, really.” He giggled. “Perhaps there’s a Mr. Song in the mix.”

“Yeah. Got it.” _Where had she heard that name before?_

* * *

“Christ, Christ, Christ! It’s two in the bloody morning, John!”

“Ya ought tae wash that mouth of yers,”said John, he sounded a little drunk. “Were you asleep?”

Clara bit her lip. _Of course, she wasn’t._

“No, I wasn’t. What can I do for you, John?”

“I need ye tae-,” slurred John. Through the phone, Clara could hear stuff falling and a female voice calling out to John. She tried to listen for more, but John was breathing heavily down his end of the phone.

“God, it’s good. All good. Er, Clara? Still there?”

“John, are you okay?”

“Yea, yea. Ye need to cover. 9 AM lecture. I’ve got a thing-”

Clara rolled her eyed. “A thing-? When did you start havin- a thing?”

“Are ya rollin’ your eyes at me?”

“Wha-? How’d you-?”

“It’s quite, er, audi-ble. Um, gotta bolt. Bye.”

With that the phone clicked off. Clara slumped back into her chair. _Better start prepping for a fucking lecture_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one's short. I'll be posting the next one as soon as I can. Work's starting again soon. Adulting. Hate it.


	11. Chapter 11

Clara Oswald timorously pushed open the orange door and puffed up the stairs towards the fourth floor suite. She had only managed two hours of sleep the previous night, prepping for the lecture John had charged her to cover. _He was such a tyrant?_ One moment, he expects her to submit drafts and summaries related to her piece. Next moment, he wants her to cover his own lectures. And to think, he cared. _He said he cared, but does he really?_ Calling in the early hours, _drunk_ , telling her what he wanted. _And all while he was clearly with someone...why god, why?_

But here she was, still doing as she was told. Minutes after she had delivered the lecture, she received an email from Spooner, telling her to head up to the fourth floor. Now here she was, shoving into the door in front of her, and into... _What is this place?_ Clara was not standing in a semi-bare office. There was nothing here save for a plant, a desk, lamp, two chairs, and several filing cabinets. Walking over to the desk, she saw pencils had been arranged neatly in its holder. Clara couldn’t believe how clean the entire space was. Not a speck. She read the name on the inscripted plaque.

“Hello,” came a voice from behind her. “How may I help you?”

“Um, hello. Mr. Seb, is it?”

“Just Seb. How may I be of assistance?”

“Well, I was instructed to be present here at this time.”

“Are you Miss Oswald?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Perfect. Right through that door.” Mr. Seb pointed to another white door in the far corner of the room.

“O-kay. What’s this about?”

“Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”

Clara sighed. _Why are people so unhelpful here?_ She walked over to the door and knocked. The door eased open and Clara entered. _Oh, god, no! This was the lair of the evil witch queen!_

“Oh, look who’s come to see me,” said Missy.

Clara was stunned.

“Come on then, sit down.”

Missy sat at a desk overlooking an extremely large brightly colored office. A large mirror hung from the wall behind her. On the two adjacent walls to the mirror were tall windows bordered with white silky drapes, as if she had walked into a state room. Every surface appeared to be colored either white or magnolia. Strangely, the office emitted a buoyant atmosphere. Clara was mildly impressed to see such a unique space, especially as she so despised John’s warm cupboard. Nevertheless, Clara was puzzled. _Could one expect a witch to work in such luxury?_

“Tell me, Miss Oswald.” Missy sounded malicious. “What do you have when you have two balls in your hand?”

“Um, I’m sorry?”

“Oh, come on. Use your imagination,” continued Missy, producing to golf balls out of thin air. “Two balls in your hands?”

Clara just stared blankly at Missy. Couple inaudible pauses escaping her lips.

“Ladies and gentleman, we have a slow one,” shouted Missy as she threw one of her hands into the air. “Oh, Miss Oswald. Let me demonstrate.” She got up from her chair and sat on Clara’s side of the desk, squeezing the balls in her hands together. “You have a man’s undivided attention,” she whispered.

“Dr. Saxton, why was I requested to be here?” asked Clara, slightly furious.

“Requested?” smirked Missy. “That’s putting it mildly. You’ve been summoned, Miss Oswald.”

“Why-,” demanded Clara. “I’m doing everything that’s been asked of me. Top of my class. A publication in the works. All of this in my first term here!”

“Relax-,” chided Missy. “Actually, don’t.” She smiled, wickedly. “I’ve summoned you here for information.”

“Information?”

“Yes, information.” She gently tossed one golf ball over Clara’s head. It landed with a slight thud on the carpeted floor. “Whoops. I missed, but never mind my skills as a golfer. Fancy him, do ya? Your Professor Smith? Bit a wholesome houghmagandie? A leg over?”

Clara’s patience with Missy broke. She jumped up from her chair and yelled furiously, “How dare you-! That is utter, vile rubbish accusation!”

Missy threw both her hands in front of her. ‘”Ho, ho, pussy’s got bite.”

“Christ!” griped Clara under her breath. _Why was she still standing there listening to Missy?_

“Just thought I should check,” said Missy, got up from the desk and walked over to the large mirror. Her eyes met Clara’s through the mirror. “He’s quite a playa, which, of course, I would know.”

Clara simply glared at Missy.

“Ever ask yourself, what kind of a grown-man hides in cupboards?” She placed her hands on her hips and shook her shoulders. “Buried with his skeletons, I suppose. Drinks a lot, might even be a doper.”

“Why are you saying these things?”

“Oh, suppose I care. Not for you, obviously, but, eh, for him. And given your history-”

“Whatever you think you know, about me,” fumed Clara. “You have no power over me-”

You keep telling that lie to yourself, dearie. Seen entire lives built around secrets only to have them crumble. We’ve all got secrets, Miss Oswald. Dangerous secrets.”

***  *  ***

Clara exited the building, and ran towards her bike. _Fucking cunt!_ How the fuck could anyone be such a fucking cunt?! Her eyes burning with anger. _What a rotten day!_ All she wanted now was to jump on her bike and get away to Rigsy and Jen, even Danny. Her phone buzzed.

 _Jen:_ Lucy fell =( Damn stairs. Five stitches to chin. She’s ok. Wants her Cwarah. Dinner?

 _Clara:_ :'‑( will be there

 _Jen:_ Bring Danny ;^)

 _Clara:_ Ok ( >_<)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on the next one now. ;)


	12. Chapter 12

“WE’RE HOME!” yelled Clara, as she eased open the door with her foot. “Jen, Rigs, Lucy-goose. We’re here! Danny’s got the alcohol.”

“Wow. Nice long hallway, eh?” said Danny, impressed.

“Wait till you see the rest. We were lucky to find it when we did. Jen was heavily preggo with Luce at the time,” whispered Clara, slipping off her heels. Danny followed suit and started unlacing his boots.

“Like how close y’all are,” said Danny. “Three weeks after we first started hanging out, Rigs took me down to the pub, bought me the first drink, then the second one. Then threatened to beat me to pulp, if I ever made a wrong move with you.”

“Hm, what can I say,” chuffed Clara. “ _You’re the boyfriend. He’s the bruv_.”

“Huh, well, I sure wasn’t appreciative of the threat,” scoffed Danny.

“Shush, now. I think they’re all in the kitchen.”

Before they could move from their spot, Jen emerged from the kitchen. Seeing them, she jogged over to them excitedly.

“Hello, hello, my beauties,” she said as she kissed Jen and hugged Danny. “Ooh, I’ll take care of the alcohol. Thank you, Danny.”

“Where’s my favorite little monkey?” enquired Clara. She could hear Lucy’s giggles from inside the kitchen.

“Oh, she’s waiting for you in the kitchen…,” said Jen, casually separating the wine from the extra packaging. “John’s watching her.”

“JOHN-?!” cried Clara. _What?_

“John-?!” said Danny, surprised.

“Cawarah!” cried Lucy, running into the hallway. She was wearing her squeaker shoes.

“Oh, ah, um… Luuccy, my love,” recovered Clara, picking her up and kissing her forehead.

“Boo boo,” said Luce, pointing to her chin.

“Hello, Clara,” said a soft gruff voice.

John was standing in the kitchen doorway. Clad in a black t-shirt and jeans, John appeared scruffier and gaunt than usual. His stubble was unkept and his clothes had water stains all over.

“John-? Didn’t think I’d see you today,” said Clara, rather coldly. _She wasn’t one to forgive and forgot that easy_.

“Didn’t think I would either,” confessed John.

“John-ny,” cried Lucy, wiggling out of Clara’s arms and running towards John instead. John noiselessly carried Lucy into his arms where she wanted to remain cuddled.

“Rigsy’s been held back at the plant again. Says there’s a big order in the works. So, I had to get Luce to the A&E alone. Bumped into John there.”

“Well, I, um…,’ began Clara.

“Ahem,” coughed Danny. He walked over to John with his hand stretched out. “Hello. I’m Danny Pink. Clara’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend-?” baffled John, shaking Danny’s hand.

“Yes,” quipped Danny. “Boyfriend. We’ve been dating for a while now.”

“Never heard of you-”

“Why don’t we sit somewhere slightly more comfortable-,” interrupted Clara. “Danny, John, Luce, you can head over to the living room. Jen and I will take care setting the drinks and stuff.”

“FYI. There’s lasagna in the oven,” said John, smiling. Lucy grabbed his nose. “Ah, you like the nose now, do ya?”

“Come on-,” whispered Clara furiously. She grabbed Jen and hurried to the kitchen. Once inside the doorway, Clara took a peak into the hallway. _Danny and John were talking, as they slowly edged into the living room_. She swiveled to face Jen, who still held the bottle of syrah, but was now throwing a disapproving look at Clara.

“What are you doing?” questioned Jen.

“You-, you- invited him. For dinner? Why would you do that? Why did you-,” panicked Clara. “He didn’t know about Danny. Now, he knows about Danny. Christ, I’m fucked!”

“Wait-, what’s going on?” puzzled Jen.

“I never told John about Danny…It’s just really awkward.”

“Clara, you’re the one making this awkward.”

“How’d you even-? In the A&E?”

“Yes, he was there. Waiting. Luce took an instant liking to him. And he seemed to want to hang about, so I invited him to dinner. Look, he’s even made dinner.”

“Jen, I can’t even begin to describe how horrid today was-”

“Hello-,” said Danny. “Just wanted a glass of water.”

“Ooh, I have to, um, laundry. Excuse me.”

“Jen-,” said Clara, rolling her eyes. She pulled out a glass from the shelf, filled it with water, and handed it to Danny.

“He keeps calling me, PE. Thinks I’m a PE teacher.”

“Yeah. He usually has trouble remembering names-“

“And Scottish. Properly Scottish.”

“Yeah. You should hear him when he’s drunk,” said Clara with a nervous laugh.

“Funny how he practically knows everything about Rigs and Jen. Even Lucy doesn’t want to leave his side.”

“Danny-,” said Clara, nonchalantly. “I know what it looks like. But Jen-Lucy was a coincidence.”

“Oh, yes. This dinner was definitely a coincidence. I can see that. But if you just saw him coddle Lucy, the way he does, there’s no way they just met,” spouted Danny.

“What, are you an expert on toddler behavior now?” said Clara, slightly blustered.

“I might be,” snorted Danny. He moved over to Clara, his voice above a whisper. “So, how is it that I’m always out of your inner circle?”

“Inner circle-?”

“Yeah, inner circle. Not like I’m your boyfriend or anything.”

“Danny, no. There’s nothing of the sort-,” said Clara, tenderly. “It just happened to be what it is. I’m sorry about that.”

“Am I interrupting something-?” interrupted John from the doorway.

“Not at all,” smiled Danny. “How can we help?”

“Just checking wanting to check on the lasagna,” snsdnf John. “Smells good, eh? Mum’s recipe. Never a let-down.”

“So, you cook too,” asked Danny.

“Oh, yeah. I suppose they never teach you lot that skill in the military now do they?

“Us, lot?”

“Yeah. Your lot. You know, tax-funded mercenaries,” scoffed John.

“I THINK-,” butted-in Jen. “It’s time for dinner. Just put Luce to bed, which means, I’m getting drunk… anyone with me?” Jen grabbed a bunch of plates and shoved them into Danny’s hands. He was still glaring at John.

Danny, why don’t you, um, set the plates? I’ll follow with the drinks and glasses,” said Jen. She eyed Clara to handle John.

“Right, and I’ll do my BEST not to make a lasagna out of John,” growled Clara, as Danny moved out of ear-shot. She exchanged looks with Jen. _This dinner was a disaster already._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more so stay tuned...


	13. Chapter 13

“Now THAT was some lasagna. Who knew Johnny here could chef up a masterpiece from leftover groceries,” cried Jen happily.

“Well, mum’s idea hasn’t let me down yet,” laughed John. “Always used up what we had remaining at the end of the week. She’d never let food go tae waste.”

“Talking about waste… We’d be wasting some of this delicious Chianti. Why not have some, John?”

“I wish I could,” smiled John.

“And here I was hoping to have the honor of witnessing that marvelous drunken ways of Mister J.B. Smith...,” rambled Jen.

“Don’t need to be more relaxed than I am now.”

“Your loss.”

“How about P.E. here? I’m sure he appreciate a couple more sips.”

“No, thanks. I’m driving us back,” said Danny, shifting in his seat. “Clara?”

“Eh, I’m sorry, what-?” asked Clara.

“Well, someone’s missed out on dinner,” giggled Jen. Clara shot Jen a look, which indicated that she should stop and simply sip her wine. Jen complied.

“So, Danny, how long did you serve?” asked John.

“Afghanistan. 5 years. Sergeant,” responded Danny.

“Afghanistan-,” said John with raised eyebrows. “Hated it when I was there.”

“You were in Afghanistan-?” sputtered Clara with sudden animation. “What for?”

“Well, I wasn’t quite “in” Afghanistan. More like the border with Turkmenistan. Bronze Age civilization of Central Asia. Huh, bored me to death.”

“Bore you to death-?” enquired Clara.

“Well, yeah. Not the kind of death P.E. here has experience with, of course, but-”

“23,” said Danny, quietly.

“23-?” said John.

“I dug 23 wells in Afghanistan.”

“What, after all the carnage?” jeered John. “ _Do your lot always try to fix bullet holes with Band-Aids_?”

“And you think you’re so funny saying shit like that?” said Danny, irked.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, Danny,” said John, placing his palms in the air. “Didn’t mean to cause offence-”

“You mean the whole no-offence-I’m-just-kidding routine?”

“Danny,” urged Clara. “He apologized. Let it go.”

Danny turned on Clara. “Who does he think he is, anyway? It’s not like he’s been in a war zone, now has he?”

“Danny. Let. It. Go,” said Clara, sternly.

Danny sat back in his chair and sulked. Facing Danny, John simply scratched his stubble. The room was uncomfortably warm as everyone sat silent. Lucy’s cries could now be heard from the bedroom.

“Excuse me,” said Jen, picking up her plate and disappearing into the hallway.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” spoke John, quietly.

“Tell you what exactly? That I’m in a relationship with someone?” said Clara. John shrugged his shoulders and stared into the candle at the center of the table.

“Is it serious?”

“What do you think?” spat Clara.

“Why are you two talking like I’m not here?” blustered Danny, now unable to hide his anger. Clara held her palm in the air towards him, cautioning him not to interfere in the matter. He picked up his plate and walked out of the room.

“Is it serious?” repeated John. His eyes were now closed; as if to hide the tears forming in his eyes.

“Seriously?” rebuked Clara. “It’s interesting how you want to have a conversation about this.”

“Clara,” said John. “He isn’t right for you.”

“Yeah? And what do you know that I don’t, eh?”

“Clara-,” said John softly.

“He’s been there. Unlike you. Leaving me behind to shovel your shit for you, for what, the seventh time now?”

“It was an emergency.”

“An emergency.” sneered Clara. “As was all those other times. _I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long_.”

“CLARA OSWALD!” shouted John, slamming both his hands on the table. His faced was peaked with fury. He shot up from his chair and stood with his face turned away. A few moments passed.

“Listen, and you will listen,” spoke Clara sternly as she rose from her seat. Her palms felt sweaty, so she crossed her arms and edged towards the wall. “ _You and I_ … we aren’t friends. I will never. Share my shit with you. And I sure, as hell, don’t expect your shit my way. So...if you’ve got problems, yea? You need a shrink.” Pausing, she turned her back completely to John. “I need to get MY work done, John. _How do you expect me to do my work if can’t even keep up with your buggering_?”

*SLAM*

Clara spun around only to discover that John had disappeared. Clara slumped into the sofa and cussed quietly to herself.

*  *  *

_You Have (2) Voice Messages._

*Beep*

“John, it’s Clara. <inaudible.> I’m sorry.”

*Beep*

“John, this is River. YOUR WIFE! Will you please pick up the god-damned phone?! I need to know you’re okay!”

_You Have No More Messages._


	14. Chapter 14

"Professor Song! I mean… I meant, River. Hello," stuttered Clara. "Sorry. I've been having quite a week."

"Oh, we've all been there," laughed River as she waved her hand. "Had to deal with something myself last recently but its good now. So, I was hoping to take you to my favorite cafe, right round the corner."

"That'll be absolutely brilliant."

"But, I do have one stipulation of taking you there. It’s my treat."

Clara tried to protest, but River would not have it. They walked and chatted merrily till they arrive to the corner cafe. River explained how the cafe's owners were inspired to make fat-free muffins using soy after reading a popular National Geographic article she had authored several years ago.

"Parts of Central Asia are completely arid. Protein-poor region. So, the locals rely heavily on soyabeans for everything from food to fuel. I hope I'm not boring you with this stuff-," rambled River enthusiastically.

"No, no," said Clara sincerely. "This is fascinating."

"I was curious. How did these nomadic locals know to harvest soyabeans within the time and location they were bound to? From several interviews, we realized most of the ‘knowing’ had come from ancient traditions of their people. Now to prove that, we’d have to perform some form of archaeological discovery. So, I had one of my colleagues and one assistant accompany me to the Turkmenistan-Afghanistan border where I’d done some previous surveying. And I won’t lie, but our initial search didn’t do much for morale. But we stuck to it and half a year into the dig, we’d hit a gold mine.”

"Wow,” said Clara. “That’s just…I can’t even imagine being there. Must’ve felt wonderful.”

“Oh, god, yes!” said River, sipping her coffee. “It truly felt like we’d made it in the world. But when you reach the apex of your career, well… it’s never enough.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel. But the only other country I’ve been to is France.”

“Oh, you’ve got plenty of time.”

Clara took a bite out of her muffin. She felt refreshed. It wasn’t every day you meet someone who has done something so remarkable or awe-inspiring. _Clara had always wanted to be that person_. Her mom had inspired her to be that person. And given her current and ambitious season of life, she found River’s stories to be encouraging. _A proper career woman_.

“I’m sorry to sound crude,” said Clara. “But I noticed your ring earlier…Are you married?”

“Yes,” said River as she delicately lifted her tea cup and took a small sip. “Twenty-four years.”

“Twenty-four years?! How do you even do that?” asked Clara with wonder.

“Very, very discreetly,” smiled River. “My husband and I, we do our best to resolve things. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. But, heavens, he’s a dear.”

“He sounds wonderful,” said Clara.

“He is,” said River. She raised an eyebrow. “Most days. Knows exactly how to push my buttons. But he’s always been supportive. Always encouraged me to run after the best.”

Clara smiled. _Danny’s still got a lot of maturing to do_.

“Tell me about you,” continued River. “Partner or spouse?”

“My boyfriend, Danny. Ex-army.”

“Ooh, military man. Now, that’s sexy.”

“He’s a lovely guy. Sometimes a tad gauche,” blushed Clara.

“There’s not a single man I have met who’s NOT a tad gauche,” said River. “Never forget. Men are like trees, they’ll take forever to grow up.”

Saying this, River winked at Clara which set her off giggling slightly. Moments later, they were both laughing.

*  *  *

Clara doubled-checked, no, triple-checked her email.

_Dear Miss Oswald,_

_Congratulations!_

_The IJoST Review Board has accepted your article for publication. Please ensure follow-up on the necessary revisions required before the article’s publication. You shall be notified of the date and issue of publication once the revisions are finalized._

_Do extend our compliments to your supervisor, Mr. Smith._

_Best,_   
_Marc Sweener_   
_IJoST Review Board Secretary_

It had finally come to pass! Clara Oswald has successfully authored a treatise worthy of publication. She owed him. _Owed it all to John Smith!_

*  *  *

“Congratulations,” said John.

He and Clara were standing in his third-floor suite office. It was a lovely space with a green hue. Several plants were placed along the high walled bookshelves. A large glass table rested to one side, lined with several black chairs. Against the window, sat his desk with several office supplies strewn across. Opposite the windows, where the door opened into his space, was a firm velvet couch which was pushed up against the wall. On this wall, hung all his mentees’ first publications. Each placed within clear, borderless frames, as if they were on exhibit inside a museum. John watched Clara’s eyes wander hungrily across the wall.

“It’ll hang right there,” pointed John to an empty space. “Your first-ever publication.”

“John, I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he smiled. “You deserved it.”

“I-I behaved quite badly the other day.”

“You’re not the only person in the world who’s said something they regretted. I know I crossed the line,” said John apologetically. He moved to the glass table and sat down. His extremities were trembling again.

“ _Shit. Not now_ ,” he thought.

“Maybe. But it still doesn’t excuse my offense,” explained Clara.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just celebrate, okay?”

“Okay…Um, John.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got some-,” she used her thumb to wipe a spot on the left-corner of her lips. “You should take care of that before we leave.”

John wiped the left-corner of his lip with his wrist sleeve _._ He noticed the sudden appearance of a bright red colored streak. _Christ! Why wasn’t he say anything? Should he tell her?_  John moved to look out his window. Should he just let Clara believe what she had just witnessed or tell her the truth about himself? John looked down at his trembling fingers. _Nope. He won’t say anything._


	15. Chapter 15

Moments before Clara Oswald was due to meet him in his third-floor office, John had been busying himself with wiping the dust of his bookshelf. His peace was interrupted by _his latest nightmare_.

“How’s your bitch?” asked Missy casually as she walked-in.

John forcibly spun to face the door. He clenched his lightly shaking hands as he pursed his lips.

“Oh no, no. I’ve got it all wrong,” jeered Missy. “There’s not one anymore, but TWO now. Let me rephrase…How are your bitches?”

“None of your fucking business,” said John coldly.

“None of my fucking business-,” repeated Missy with equal coolness. “I think you’ve forgotten, man. I’ve done more for you and your bitches than you could’ve ever managed on your own.”

She moved to where he stood frozen by the part of the bookshelf closet to his desk. She emptied a pencil holder housing several graphite drawing pencils onto the table. Then, picking up a pencil, Missy bit down on its center, leaving traces of her lipstick on it, before she returned it to the pencil holder. She repeated this with several pencils. John simply stood and stared at the wall over his couch.

“Johnny-,” said Missy. “I’m not too appreciative of the silent treatment.”

“Why did you give Clara Oswald to me?”

“Because I love-ah, love-ah, hate you-,” rambled Missy.

Missy’s blouse was fairly low cut. She stuck her thumb into her cleavage and pulled the blouse down a little further.

“Come on, Johnny boy. You know I love a little fun. I was tossing through some shit when I thought, why, they’d be perfect for each other.” She pulled out the thumb from her cleavage and sucked it seductively. “Tae baad River’s in the way,” she sneered.

He was glaring at her now. The muscles in John’s cheeks moved as he clenched his jaw. Missy batted her eyelids at him.

“Tch. You’ve never liked me talking about River in anyway, now have you? Sooo protective of her. Always tryin’ yer best tae keep _her_ happy, even when she’s always been banging someone else.”

“Missy-,” fumed John. _He had to remain where he was, yet he felt it was his desperate wish to throttle Missy to death_.

“John-,” whined Missy. “A man like you could have any woman he wants.” She placed her nose on his shoulder and sniffed him. “Hmm, deadly sexy.”

“Why are you doing this?” asked John. He was tired of this game. _He wanted out._

“Because,” said Missy, placing one hand between his shirt and his trouser. John moved his arms uncomfortably into the air. His hands were visibly trembling now.

“Stopped your medications again, I see,” mocked Missy. “I’m sure you’ll revert back. Meanwhile, let me help you relax.”

Pinning him into the bookshelf, Missy planted her mouth across John lips and sucked his mouth dry. Shaking helplessly against her, John did everything to stop himself from sliding to the floor. He could feel his limbs had begun to numb. Little did he realize, however, a sharp knock and the sound of Clara Oswald entering the room. Only to find him lip-locked with the Devil-incarnate.

*  *  *

John and Clara walked silently towards Mezzoni’s Wine Bar. When Clara phoned John about the review board’s welcoming decision, he had immediately suggested Mezzoni’s. He had also asked her to meet him; a couple minutes before 6 pm in his suite office. He wanted her to see how he immortalized his mentees’ first publications. Prior to the few minutes they spent in his office, Clara felt a sudden wave of guilt about everything that had transpired between them at Jen and Rigsy’s apartment. She had called and left a brief, _extremely brief_ , apology in his voicemail. And though John returned her call the next day, she was convinced nothing would be the same between them ever again. So, she decided to deliver a formal and sincere apologize once they were all alone in his suite office. Except, she wasn’t able to. At least, not until Missy had exited the office.

She felt the hairs on her arms raise up. _It had unnerved her_. Missy with one hand digging into the back of John’s head and the other just inside the belt of his trousers, steadily moving from his side towards his front. _Christ! Why did it have to be her? Couldn’t he find someone else to amorous with? Did it have to be the ‘queen’ of all vipers?_

They were seated on the patio outside which faced a water-fountain. The weather was cool but pleasant. Once their orders were taken, Clara’s gaze drifted towards John. His hair had all been ruffled and his shirt had been untucked in one spot. His tie had been loosened around his unbuttoned collar He looked cute. _Like a rebel school boy_. He still not spoken anything of significance since they first left the office. Clara decided John was too embarrassed to have been found out like that, but she did not blame him. It was Missy. _It had to be Missy who insisted to have a go, right there and then._

“John,” said Clara. “I want you to know that you can trust me.”

“Yeah,” said John nonchalantly.

“I would never betray you. If you and Missy are a thing, I promise I won’t tattle.”

John remained silent. Clara accepted this as a sign of his agreement.

“I’m not judging you or anything,” stated Clara. “But just a bit curious, um, was this fairly recent?”

John remained still.

“It would explain all the hostility, er. She can get quite catty.”

“Can we talk about something else?” sighed John. His hands flinched. Clara took notice.

“Yeah. Sure thing,” said Clara delicately. “What were they like? What did you think of them?”

“Who exactly?”

“All the people before me.”

“They were all, absent, really-”

“What do you mean?” shrugged Clara. “Were they mostly, um, un-focused?”

“No, they just never really cared about being around-,” breathed John. “They were all brilliant, shining diamonds with slightly rough edges. I took ‘em in. Scuffed ‘em out and they shine evermore brightly still.” He sat back lazily on his chair. “It’s just I managed to do all that without ever interfering in their lives, but they were never really interested in mine either.”

John took a sip of his water. The waiter appeared with their choice of wine and filled in their wineglasses. John picked up his, with Clara following suit.

“To Clara Oswald. May she shine the brightest of them all,” said John smiling. His tremors now under control. He chinked his glass with hers before their first course appeared.


	16. Chapter 16

“That. Was. Good.” said Danny breathlessly.

Moments later, he had bounced off the bed and skipped to the bathroom. Walking back into the room, he gathered his clothes off the ground and plopped down on the dresser chair. As he dressed himself, he could hear Clara moving beneath the covers.

“I should be getting back,” he said. “You can stay in. I’ll see myself out.”

“Yeah,” said Clara. “Danny, please stay.”

“I’ll just skip the cab. Could totally run the five miles home,” said Danny energetically.

“Danny?”

“Yea?” said Danny as he buckled up his trouser belt.

“Do you have to go?”

“I have stuff-”

“On the first night of school break.”

“Well, yeah. I can be busy. You’re always busy,” said Danny pulling a t-shirt over his head. He sat Clara’s dresser and started running a comb through his hair.

“What do you think about moving in together?”

“What-?’ he said. He put his comb down and stared at her through the dresser mirror.

“You know…The two of us, a cat, and a flat? A home, together?”

“Clara-,” sighed Danny. His tone had changed as he turned to face her. “Clara.”

“Don’t,” said Clara as she roughly tugged her kimono off the bed post. “Don’t you, ‘Clara’ me, Danny Pink!”

“Look-,” said Danny forcefully. “I’ve already told you. This-, we- are moving too fast, Clara.”

“Moving too fast?” cried Clara. “Wasn’t it you who said you wanted all this? ‘Five years in Afghanistan, Clara. Never thought I’d survive to be able to say this to anyone. I love you, Clara Oswald.’ Those were your exact words.”

“Clara, I meant what I said.”

“Well, then. Prove it.”

“How does making such a big decision prove anything?”

“I need to know, Danny.” Clara shuffled about her feet. “I need to know you want to be here for ME.”

“Clara, I am here for YOU,” said Danny firmly, but not convincingly.

“Then what are WE doing? All we do… is fuck about or do things. Why not just ‘stay’ here. With me?”

“Clara!” said Danny, his voice raised. “What do you want from me? I’m here. With you. You’re clearly just overthinking things.”

“I am NOT overthinking this,” shouted Clara.

“Whatever,” said Danny coldly. “I can’t deal with anymore shouting tonight. I’m leaving. I’ll talk to you tomorrow when you’re calm.”

Danny hurried out of her bedroom. Clara heard her front door close shut, as she moved to the window. Through it, she saw Danny pull his jacket over his head and run down the street. Tears pooled in Clara’s eyes. _Why do you always do this to me, Danny Pink?_

*  *  *

“How are you doing today?” asked Rigsy.

“Perfect,” said John soberly. “Finally fixed the lighting fixture in the guest bedroom. Bought a couple plants for the kitchen. Scrubbed some pots and pans.”

“I think he’s asking how you’re feeling,” smiled Jen. She felt her husband’s arm squeeze her gently.

The three were outside on a bench, eating chips, and enjoying the warm weather. Lucy was close-by and trying to feed pigeons with her chips. Rigsy kept a cautious eye on Lucy, while Jen lazed back into his arms. John doodled in his notebook.

“You look good today, John. Gave us quite a scare when we spotted you in A&E.”

“Yea,” said John rubbing his face. “Mistook my dose. Two fluoxetine tabs within hours of each other. Scotch didn’t help either. Stopped breathing two minutes before I arrived.”

“John, we’re really, really glad you’re okay,” said Jen concerned. She wrapped her fingers around John’s hand. “How did you get there on time?”

“I had help.”

“That nice woman who was there with you.”

“Yes. Her name’s River,” he said dejectedly. “She’s-, my wife.”

“Hmm-,” murmured Rigsy. Jen elbowed his ribs causing him to buckle slightly.

“I’m glad she was there-,” interrupted Jen.

“Yes. She’s there. When I need her.”

“You don’t seem too enthused about her keeping a look out for you, John.”

“And there are proper reasons for that,” mumbled John. His hand shook visibly again. John shifted in his seat to make it less noticeable. “Doctors said tae hold off on the anxiety meds until I’m ready for ‘em again.” His hands tremored. On and off. On and off.

“Your body’s adjusting to the side-effects,” said Jen.

“Yea,” swallowed John. He paused for a moment before continuing. “How’d you two guess I was in trouble, even before the A&E?”

“Your face,” spoke Jen. “Recognized you. Worked under Vir Sharma at Priory for five years. Before I had Luce, of course.”

“You’re a therapist?”

“Volunteer. Management. Rigsy was a peer-mentor with drug rehab. It’s where we met,” smiled Jen.

“And Clara?”

“Why’d you mention her?”

“It wasn’t difficult to infer given how close you all are.”

“It’s not our place to say,” said Rigsy.

Interrupted by the sound of a small thump, all adults three turned to see a toddler completely sprawled on the ground in her ---- attempt to coax the pigeons with her chips.

“Her best frock,” sighed Jen. “Guess she takes after her dad. Always getting into unexpected scrapes.”

“Come here, Lucy,” said Rigsy sternly.

Hearing herself being referred to as ‘Lucy’ and not ‘Luce’ meant only one thing. She was in trouble. Acting quickly, Lucy picked herself up and ran to John’s side. All in the vain attempt to avoid her parents’ rebuke. She buried herself under John’s arm.

“There’s no point hiding, Luce,” explained John firmly. “I think you’d be better off apologizing for getting yourself all messy.”

“Sowwie,” said Lucy to her parents. It was her most sincere apology.

“Alright, Lucy,” continued Rigsy with his usual fatherly tone. “We’re letting you off this time.”

Whether or not she fully understood what her father meant by “letting you off this time”, Lucy clapped her hands with joy. Apparently, all the adults enjoyed her monkeyshines because they always laughed afterwards. Why she still got the occasional slap on the backside, despite all the laughter she brought them, was still a mystery to her. Anyhow, she now wanted the pigeons to eat their fill of chips, especially if Johnny was letting them to waste. She tugged his arm to indicate express how she absolutely required his uneaten chips.

“You want my chips?” asked John.

“Lucy, no,” said Jen strictly. “We don’t ask for someone else’s chips to feed birds.”

“Well, I have always liked feeding birds some chips,” said John playfully. “Especially big birds like you, Luce!” With that he dipped a chip in ketchup and brought it close to Lucy’s mouth. She balanced herself on his arm with her tiny arms and took small bite. John popped the half-eaten chip into his mouth. John and Lucy repeated this routine all the chips had disappeared. Rigsy and Jen simply laughed as they watched John and Lucy eat the chips.

 “You’re hired!” said Jen laughing. “YOU should be Luce’s new babysitter!”


	17. Chapter 17

“Ok. I’ve completed the brief for your lecture,” announced Clara as she opened the door to the broom cupboard. “John-?”

The broom cupboard was thick with the stench of alcohol and smoke. Clara observed John sitting on his side of the desk with his face buried in his hands. A lone cigarette burned in an ash-tray beside him. She never knew he smoked before. When John lifted his head, Clara could see tears glistening in his eyes. She moved slowly towards her chair, without taking her eyes off him, and sat down.

“Ach,” said John rubbing his face. “Yer supposed tae be in school.” His hands shook as he picked up the cigarette off the ash-tray and sucked deeply on the end.

“I-, I told you. School’s on was break for us now.”

“WHY ARE YA HERE THEN-?!” he yelled.

Clara did not answer. John has always been a gentle creature. She just could not wrap her mind around why he was acting so differently. Clara felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. John was clearly unhappy, but he would never tell her why. She knew this to be true. Though he had caused her a lot of inconvenience in the past, only once did he justify it as an A&E emergency. But in her self-righteous anger, she did not care for him and insulted him instead. Clara felt a wave of empathy and guilt wash over her chest.

“What if this has to do with Missy?” thought Clara. “That wicked bitch must have gutted him. I swear, if she was the cause of this-”

But from where Clara was seated, she could observe John’s profile. His chair was slanted against the back wall and he was cowering into the corner. Suddenly, Missy’s words swarmed into her head. _Ask yourself, what kind of a grown-man hides in cupboards? Buried with his skeletons. Drinks a lot. Might even be a doper._

“No,” screamed Clara to herself. Why would she ever believe Missy? Every word from that witch’s tongue was a spurt of poison meant to cause damage. “But look at him. He’s showing all the signs. _That day at Mezzoni’s_. _His hands. Shaking._ Signs of withdrawal. Was this a relapse? Oh god, no. Please, no.”

“John-,” said Clara with all the tenderness and firmness she could muster. She stood from her seat and squeezed past the table to his side. Two empty scotch bottles lay on the floor. Clara picked them up and set them on top of the mini-fridge. From the shelf, she grabbed his t-shirts, trousers, socks, and some underwear. She stuffed them into her backpack. Then she touched John’s shoulder to see if he was aware she was still in the room. He stirred.

“John. We’re leaving.”

“Wher’-?,” he slurred loudly.

“Not here at any rate.”

She helped him to feet and coaxed him to squeeze past the desk. He almost fell over, but Clara supported him. _Stairs are too risky, so the elevator_. Punching the button for the ground floor, Clara was thankful that no one had seen them, _yet_. The elevator doors dinged open to the main lobby. Five hundred feet away stood Missy and Seb. Missy was talking, Seb was holding a clipboard and taking notes.

“Shit,” cussed Clara to herself. How were they to get past them without being noticed? The elevator door began to close, so Clara stuck her foot to stop it. “C’mon, John.” She dragged John towards one side of the lobby.

“This is so stupid,” thought Clara. The entire lobby of St. Anderson Hall was designed to be a flat open space with the busts of several literary figures lining the wall. The only spot which could provide some sort of shelter was the reception desk.

“Oh, god. I hope Mrs. Hughes understands,” said Clara.

“Mrs-, who?” blinked John.

“Shut up and try to keep up,” whispered Clara into John’s ear.

Partially dragging John, Clara whisked him over to where Mrs. Hughes sat behind a great wood reception desk.

“Miss Oswald,” said Mrs. Hughes startled. She quickly noted the look of desperation on Clara’s face and John’s unsavory condition. _Mrs. Hughes understood_. Dr. Saxton and Mr. Seb were only feet away from the desk, and Miss Oswald was trying to save Professor Smith from embarrassment.

“Over here,” whispered Mrs. Hughes. She unlocked the door behind her desk. Clara ushered John through the door, Mrs. Hughes followed close behind. It was a small break room, with a window and various appliances resting on counters. There was a round table with four chairs. Clara plopped John on a chair.

“This is the staff break room. You can wait here till Dr. Saxton’s left. I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes.”

“It’s alright, love. Professor Smith will appreciate everything you’re doing to save him, once he comes to his senses.” Clara smiled in response. “I’ll leave you to it then,” said Mrs. Hughes, exiting the room.

“John, how are you holding up?”

“Feel a bit sick,” grumbled John.

“Should have thought of that before-,” scolded Clara. The door to the break room opened.

“They’re gone. I expect they’ll be back soon. You should make your get away.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Will not forget your kindness,” said Clara as she helped John to his feet again.

Once on the main road, Clara hailed a taxi and pushed John into it. She could tell John was getting a lot more impatient now. He kept scuffling against the seat.

“Stop that,” admonished Clara. “We’re almost there.”

The taxi stopped outside Clara’s apartment. While she paid the cab driver, John had bent over the bushes nauseated.

“John, are you okay?”

“NO-,” shouted John. He crumbled to his knees and vomited. Clara quickly hopped to his side and rubbed his back. She felt him waning now.

“C’mon,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

She bustled him in through the front door and towards the bath in her bedroom. It had been, what, ten years since she last intervened in someone’s life like this. Stripping off only his shirt and trouser, Clara pushed John into her tub and turned on the cold shower. The shock from the cold water forced him awake and he wailed.

“He’ll be clean, but not sober,” said Clara to herself. She grabbed some body wash and forced it into his hands. “Get washed. There’s a towel behind the door and I’ll leave your clothes on the washing machine.” She turned to walk out, before she remembered, “How’d you feel about Chinese?”

John simply grumbled in response.

“I’ll take that as a _yes_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I've got 2 big meetings till it's wednesday. Please stay tuned till then. Thanks for your lovely comments!!! XD


	18. Chapter 18

“I’m not sure what you liked but the chow mein’s pretty good,” said Clara coolly. She placed two plates of food on a set dinner table. “C’mon, sit down.”

John shuffled over to a chair and slumped down. He shakily picked up a fork and picked at his food, while Clara filled their glasses with water.

“You’re supposed to eat it. Not play with it,” said Clara sternly.

John stopped picking his food and straightened up. He took a small bite. Realizing how much his body had been deprived of sustenance, John quickly forked another portion into as he swallowed the first.

“Oi! You’ll choke like that. Slowly, okay?”

Clara watched as John ate. She noticed the new lines that creased his face. _Such a fucking oaf! Why does he torture himself like that?_ She quietly forked food into her own mouth. Halfway through her meal, she noticed John had already finished. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and got up to help John.

“You’ll need to sleep off the rest,” she said as she reached out to touch his arm. John recoiled.

“I’m fine. I need tae get home… Don’t appreciate being bossed around.”

“Shut up, you daft old man. You’re not leaving. Get up. You’re sleeping in the bedroom.”

“I’m not sleeping in anyone’s fuck bed-”

“You, fucking tart. How dare you say that,” said Clara, a little angry. “I’m not the one who’s taken a fucking piss. You can’t go anywhere because I’m not planning on going anywhere. You can’t go anywhere alone because I’m not letting you leave. So, get the fuck up and go to bed.”

John picked himself up and staggered to her bedroom. Clara yelled after him.

“I had already changed the sheets while you were in the shower-,”

John slammed the bedroom door. Clara swore loudly to herself, “ _Fuck you, John Smith_.”

*  *  *

Clara woke up on the couch the next day. Her eyes drifted towards her mom’s mini grandfather clock. _She was going to be late for school!_ Jumping off the couch, she remembered John was in her bedroom. She quietly approached the bedroom door and gently pushed it open. Her bed was made but empty. She stalked around her apartment looking for him, only to find a note in the kitchen.

_Dear Clara,_

_I’m so very, very sorry about my rude behavior yesterday. You were really kind and gracious about everything. I woke up this morning too embarrassed to face you directly. Please let me make it up to you sometime in the future._

_Thanks for everything,_

_John_

Clara flattened the note with her palm.

“At least he was courteous enough to leave an apologetic note,” smiled Clara to herself.

*  *  *

“Clara!” shouted Danny from behind. Ignoring Danny, Clara walked steadily towards the back wall of the school where the caretaker’s room was located.

“Please, Clara. I’m sorry!”

“NO! You are not,” said Clara hotly. “You’re on your own, Rambo!”

“Clara, please,” he grabbed her arm and swiveled her around to face him. “Will you just listen to me?”

“No! Let go!”

Clara tried to wrestle her arm out of Danny’s grip, but his hold remained firm. As she continued to wrestle against him, Danny’s grasp tightened around her delicate arm. With a single movement, Danny lifted Clara off her feet and pushed his body into hers, and held her mid-air against the wall.

“You will listen,” said Danny quietly. He stared intently into Clara’s eyes. Clara, half-surprised by Danny’s forcefulness, felt her eyes burn under his gaze.

“Clara, I love you,” he stopped and breathed. Clara felt his breath against her neck. “I love you. There will be no one else but you. I can’t say why you don’t see that.” He eased himself off her, but continued to support her weight.

“Why did you leave then-?”

“Because you’re a liar, Clara Oswald.”

Without lifting his eyes off her, Danny gently dropped Clara to the ground. He raised one of his hands to his mouth, and sighed into it. Stunned, Clara remained mute. Danny clenched his fists and dropped both his hands to his side.

“The truth is, Clara, you don’t want this. You don’t want to move in with me. No! What you want is to climb up the ladder of fame and glory. I have seen how hard your work. Your work is everything. Keeping John happy becomes everything. Not me,” said Danny shaking his head. “So, don’t lie to me. And most importantly, don’t lie to yourself.”

Having said everything he felt he had to say, Danny began moving away from Clara. Clara stood quietly against the wall.

“You’ve made a fair, Mr. Pink,” swallowed Clara, her voice regaining its strength.

“You don’t deny it.”

“No. I won’t,” said Clara biting her lip. “I just don’t where this leaves us.” Without moving his hands, Danny shrugged his shoulders.

“Are you asking me to choose?” asked Clara. Her eyes wet with tears.

“Do you love me, Clara?” asked Danny. He watched her as she reflected for a moment. It felt as if she were carefully choosing her words.

“Da-,” began Clara.

“Wait-,” interrupted Danny, throwing up his hands. He was now looking at Clara’s feet. Clara saw some color drain from Danny’s cheeks. His breathing got shallower. “Not here. Not like this. Please.”

“Okay,” nodded Clara, wiping away her tears.

“Uh, tell me when you’re ready,” said Danny. His voice had cracked slightly, but he had cleared his throat to hide it.

“Yes,” sighed Clara heavily.

Seconds later, Danny walked away. Clara crumbled onto a nearby bench and tried to regain her composure. She didn’t fully understand what was going on, and her heart felt heavy inside of her. _How could she choose?_


	19. Chapter 19

Leafing through the stack before him, John marked several papers before pulling his specs off and placing them on his desk. He had now been forced to return to work in his suite office. If it hadn’t been for his rash smoking and drinking within a short two-hour span inside the broom cupboard, he may have evaded _all_ trouble. The broom cupboard was the only place not equipped with a smoke alarm and the University had a strict no smoking policy, which was partly why John chose to inhabit that space. But once he left the cupboard with Clara, the building coordinator ( _also named John Smith_ ) discovered the mess of unventilated smoke, burnt cigarettes, postered walls, and all the empty bottles he had left behind. As a result, John was cited for misuse of University property and was served a massive fine as well. Though she managed to shield him from a formal investigation by the University, Missy revoked his “privileges” from procuring another hiding place.

“ _Ever think about how alcohol is such a perfect solvent, John_?” said Missy bitterly. “ _It dissolves marriages, friendships, careers_.”

In his desperation, John had played his hand quite recklessly. From where he was now seated, he could hear the bustling of people and the traffic outside his window. It irked his senses. He wanted desperately to be alone; to hide away from the world. He wanted it all to stop. _Every day was the same shit_. Four knocks on the door. Someone was in the room.

“You didn’t call,” stated a serene voice.

“I didn’t need you,” said John with a feigned smile.

He looked up to see River flaunting a chambray shirt on brightly colored jeans. As per custom, her hair appeared to be floating magically in mid-air. Even so, her arms were crossed and her expression pained. 

“Beautiful as ever,” he said without batting an eye.

“Come now, John. We both know what you are like with the pleasantries. No need to fuss.”

“Why is it always a punishment to love one’s own wife?”

 “Tch, tch, John. Please let’s not go there tonight,” said River as she moved over to the couch. “So, why didn’t you call?”

“Like I said, I didn’t need you.”

“What part of our agreement wasn’t clear?” asked River miffed. John shifted in his seat. He felt River’s eyes burn right through him. “We’d agreed, hadn’t we? It’s been ten years, for Christ’s sake.”

“Oh, you remembered,” snorted John, immediately regretting the words that had just rolled off his tongue.

“Fuck you, John bellend Smith. Hope you pick a ledge to jump off of,” shouted River furiously as she stormed out the door.

“River!” cried John, running after her. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

River was thundering down several flights of steps, tears gushing from her eyes, when John finally caught up to her.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I truly am,” begged John.

“Save it,” sniffed River. “I’m tired, John, and I’m going to our home. Please don’t come there.”

John stopped in his tracks and let River quickly increase the gap between them. He stood there unhappily, both hands pocketed in his trouser, as he peered past the moisture that formed in his eyes and until River had completely disappeared before him.

 *  *  *

“I knocked-,” said Clara, rising as John stepped past the threshold of the office. She appeared to be slightly nervous. “You weren’t here and the door was open. Thought I’d wait, ahem, here.”

Using hands to scratch his stubble and his neck, John strayed past Clara and went straight for his chair. Dropping into it, he gestured for Clara to sit on the couch.

“Would you like, um, a tea?” asked John politely.

“Sure-,” said Clara with pursed lips.

John launched himself out of his chair and traipsed his way towards the far corner of an office, where all the stuff from the cupboard was piled up. He pulled out an electric kettle and some tea bags from a box.

“Shit,” swore John aloud.

“Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s just, um, you like ginseng in the afternoons. All I have is tangerine zinger. No one likes tangerines.”

“It’s okay,” tittered Clara, slightly amused that John had taken notice of her quirk. “I’ll take it.”

“Okay,” said John running a hand through his hair. He looked around for two mugs, but quickly realized that he need some water for the kettle. “Um, need water.”

“John, if it’s a bother. I don’t need it.”

“Are you sure?” asked John. _Useless! Can’t even manage a cuppa for Clara._

“Yeah, yeah,” reassured Clara.

Moving towards his desk, John rubbed his temples. He had obviously not been sleeping well-enough over the past few weeks, except for the time he had collapsed on Clara’s bed. He was worn with trying to keep up with his messy life. He sat down on his chair, and gazed intently at Clara Oswald.

“The other day,” he began.

“I got your note-,” interrupted Clara. “You don’t have to say more.”

“It was wrong,” continued John, as if he were uninterrupted. “I didn’t do right by you.” He wiped his dry mouth with the back of his hand. “You were generous and I was not appreciative. I am...indebted to you.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving you by yourself-”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. It’s, ahem, not often. Don’t get like that often.”

“I know,” said Clara delicately. “I know what you are when you're drunk. But what happened several days ago, that was…All I know is that something caused that, and whatever it is, I don't think you should let yourself go like that.”

“You handled me well-”

“I've had my share of experience-,” she said quickly. “Taking care of broken people. It's my gift.”

John slowly clasped both his hands together, and bowing his head, he asked sincerely, “Would you take care of me? I mean, you have already. But would you, again, if I ever need it?”

Clara blinked her eyes. “Yes. I would,” she scolded. “Of course, I would. You’re a good man in need of help. I willing to volunteer. But John, if this is on-going… We can’t just have you get like this every time and figure it out from there. You need a therapist, you need to join a support group, YOU NEED TO TALK about your problems.”

John had stood from his chair while Clara was speaking. He faltered from behind his desk. He kept rubbing his face or brushing his finger through his hair. He wanted desperately to run away from Clara, but he knew he would not be able to get far enough away before she catch up to him. Wrestle him to the ground, as it were. Throttle him to death, unless he told her everything. _Stubborn, lass, really._

“It’s a bit personal,” he began. “Not quite as a straight forward.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s really always been my fault, um, yeah. I take a couple pills to help with anxiety. Bit dangerous, when you’re drinking as well. Trouble-breathing, really. Like you’ve been stuffed into a genie lamp. Vir’s got me off the meds now. Prazosin for insomnia. Yeah. That one’s not good. Can’t wake up if you’re in a nightmare.”

“Okay,” said Clara confused. “Still not following why you drank all that scotch.”

“Ah well. You see,” reasoned John. “I don't take my meds now, so I drink twice as much now. Um, helps with the tremors.”

“John, are you ill? Do you have a condition?”

“I'd really rather not say.”

“Fine. I won’t force you. But from what you’re saying, you DO have a therapist and ARE taking medication to help you?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough, we can work from there. I think you should sit down. You look a bit, er, jumpy.”

John obeyed. He resumed his usual position of clasping his hands and sitting straight, whenever he felt he was being talked to by Clara. He wouldn’t always listen. Short-attention span. But he was paying attention now, or at least he was moments ago.

“John-,” said Clara waving her hand. “Thought I lost you for a second there.”

“No, I was, uh, thinking. Sorry.”

“John,” started Clara softly with her eyes.

“She’s got kind eyes, she’s got happy eyes, she’s got scold-y eyes, she’s got softy eyes…,” listed John in his mind.

“John, please, I can tell when you’re gone. It’s like you’ve got ADHD.” She pulled one of the graphite pencil from his pencil holder, noticed the teeth and lipstick marks on them, wiped off the lipstick using a tissue from her purse, and handed it to John. “Why don’t you draw? I know it helps you focus because I’ve seen you draw whenever we’re having a deliberate conversation.”

 “Okay,” breathed John. He took the pencil and started drawing on a yellow notepad before him.

“John, I want you to know that I am here. A _friend_ you can always talk to.”

“A friend?”

“Yes, a friend.” She rolled her eyes. “As a teacher, it has always been my opinion, that a teacher should always be ‘friendly’ but not ‘friends’ with his/her students. But that’s not us, you and I. You’re my teacher and I’m your student, but WE can be friends, can’t we?”

“Yes,” said John drawing Clara’s left eye. Realizing what he was drawing, he quickly stopped and moved a stack of papers over his notepad. “Um, I think I’m done drawing.”

“You’re such a goof,” laughed Clara. “Gosh. I’ve been wanting to say that forever.”

“And you are, er, um…”

“God, you are ridiculous, John,” said Clara giggling. John grinned toothily.

 _He was smitten by her_. He had always been. Ever since she first knocked on his cupboard door and he had shushed her. Now as he watched her, his heart sank. In his heart, he knew it was impossible. She was life itself, and he always seemed to be an usher to gloom. It was his life, his fate to live with bitterness and anguish. Even River, his lovely River, had come to loathe him. He had embittered her. Left her long enough, for her to turn somewhere else, and the bitterness that ensued in his heart because of her betrayal, seeded more torment in his being. His face now could no longer hide the pain. Clara took notice of his expression, she moved her hand across the desk and placed it over his.

John turned his eyes towards her, and spoke faintly, “You know what the biggest regret of the past ten years has been. I've pushed away everything I've ever loved or cared for. Don't make that mistake in your life, Clara. _Choose to be happy_.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Danny-?”

“I’m listening.”

Clara Oswald and Danny Pink were sitting in a café, two minutes from Liverpool Station. Months ago, this was the place they had their first ‘real’ conversation. Since their relationship was on ice, they decided it to be the place to talk, especially since neither the school nor their homes seemed appropriate. Sitting two feet apart from each other, both parties nervously sipped at their coffees.

“Danny,” said Clara as she placed her hand on the table. “Ten years ago, a year after I started at Eastminister, my mother died.”

“Okay,” said Danny concerned. He reached out for Clara’s hand and squeezed. “You told me this before. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” smiled Clara weakly. “But, what I didn’t tell you is how.” She took another sip of her coffee and realized Danny was staring curiously at her. "You see, Dad forgot the milk the night before. And she was always the first to wake up. I was on the phone with her in the kitchen-,” she paused to mimic her mother. “ _Oh my stars! Dad’s forgot the milk again!_ ” Clara laughed, reminiscing her mother’s quirks. Danny too couldn’t help but let out a chortle.

“So she decides to stroll over to Tesco, to buy the milk, which she does… ‘cept she never made it home.” Clara’s voice caught in her throat. She coughed. There were tears falling from her eyes. “Forty-two minutes after she’d bought the milk, Dad gets a call. Mum’s in hospital. It was… a car. Hit her.” And Danny pulled Clara’s hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Danny, I know it’s hard for you. But, I want to finish what I started. 9 months. It’s all I’m asking.”

“Yea,” said Danny tenderly. He used his thumb to wipe away Clara’s tears. “Clara, darling, I want you to be happy. I could never stand to see you hurt. I want you to thrive. It’s just… people like John. They’re broken people, Clara. They ruin lives to try and fix their own broken hearts. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“I know you cannot avoid him entirely. But promise me, Clara, never to let him maneuver you. Never let him get into your head.”

“Okay. I promise.”

“Don’t break that promise, Clara. Or we’re finished. We clear?”

“Yes, we’re clear.”

* * *

“It’s quite simple,” stated Clara. “Danny can’t know.”

“What makes you think you can hide something like this from Danny? You’re in way over your head with John,” said Jen. Both women were pacing around Clara’s coffee table.

“I know.”

“Think of the excuses you gonna make when John’s in trouble, huh. What changed your mind about him anyway? Weren’t you the one who started the whole harangue about ‘we’re not friends, John Smith’?”

“Jen, puh-lease,” said Clara, smacking her forehead. “I’m trying to think here.”

“And do you even have the whole story on John? Did he tell you everything? Because if he hasn’t, uh, that’s naff, mate,” rambled Jen exasperated.

“I know, I know. He needs time.”

“You’re barmy, you lot. No offense to John, but he’s being a wank, letting you do this.”

“He didn’t encourage me. I told him I would.”

“You did, wha-? What on god’s green earth make you say that? Like your life ain’t complicated enough. Like you don’t already have a jealous boyfriend hangin’ about every moment.”

“I can manage.”

“Yeah. Just keep saying that to yourself,” said Jen as she threw herself down on the sofa. Clara fell beside her.

“Clara, if you’re not careful…. there’ll be a lot of broken hearts,” cautioned Jen.

“No,” said Clara abruptly. “I would never let that happen.”

* * *

“Aww, there’s the pair of love-birds,” cried Missy as she waltzed in through the door. “Time to feed, my bird-brained birdies.”

“What do you want, Melissa?” asked John.

“I need your lap pet,” she pointed to Clara.

“What do you need her for?”  

Clara interrupted him, “Speak for me again and I’ll detach something.” She turned to Missy, “What do you need me for?”

“Bit spiky aren’t ya, lass?” said Missy smacking her lips. “Well, not that it’s a very big deal. The Dean would like tae honor you for your achievements. Given that you’ve, um, achieved. So, off ya go. Meet the man. While you’re there, you can tell him all about John’s erectile dysfunction.” She cackled.

“Christ,” swore Clara under her breath.

“Why wasn’t I given some notice?” questioned John.

“Because, John _McSmith_ , what I’ve just told you won’t be OFFICIAL until the donor’s party. And given that’s a university-wide event, anyone _relevant_ and _important_ will be invited.” She winked at John. “Even a handful of grave robbers, _Johnny_.”

“Grave robbers? You mean, archaeologists,” said Clara.

“ _Go, Johnny, go, go_ ,” sang Missy. “ _Johnny B. Goode_.”

“I’m not playing anymore games, Melissa,” said John wearily.

“It’s like I always say, _sweetie_ ,” said Missy. “The only game you can play is the one I just made you lose.” She turned to Clara and spat, “And you, off to the Dean’s office. 20 minutes.”

“Bloody hell,” swore Clara, after Missy left. “Why do you always let her walk all over you, John?”

“ _It’s complicated_.”

“Complicated? As in, you TWO having sex but absolutely loathing each other?”

“No,” sighed John. “Nothing of the sort. She just… _knows_ things.”

“Knows things? _Christ_. She really is a terrorist.”

“In a way. Just stay clear of her.”

“You’re not the first to warn me of her, you know. And I’ll be okay. I know what she’s like. Just hate what she does to you.”

“People like her will lose... eventually.”

“Eventually,” thought Clara.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, everyone! This is a short chapter (for good reason). I'm writing the next few chapters together. With work having started back up, it's getting harder to publish something every day or every other day. So, please forgive me for that. You all are so wonderful. Thank you!

Running across the St. Andrews Hall, Clara came to sliding halt in front of Mrs. Hughes.

“My, you look a bit eager,” said Mrs. Hughes startled. “Congratulations on your honor, Miss Oswald.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes-,” said Clara breathlessly. “I was hoping you could answer a question for me….”

* * *

“John! John!” cried Clara, skipping into his office.

“What, what-,” yelled John from under his desk.

“John, why are you under the desk?”

“I dropped my phone-,” said John, popping up from under the desk. His hair appeared completely ruffled and his specs were slightly askew. His coat was drenched and he was holding a vase with a disarrayed bunch of flowers. Clara started giggling. John always got himself in the strangest binds.

“Yeah. Like I’d believe you,” said Clara jumping into her chair.

“Um, these are for you,” said John handing her the vase.

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you,” said Clara bemused. She placed the vase on the desk and dropped her hands into her lap. She looked at John; her eyes widening.

“Why are you doing that?” asked John.

“Doing what?”

“Clara,” exasperated John as he scratched his head _._ “Your eyes. They’re inflated. How can I help you?”

“You can’t help me,” replied Clara coolly. “I’m here to help you.” She winked. John’s heart skipped a beat.

“O-kay. What do you have for me?”

“OK. We have two days to plan a heist.”

“A heist?!”

“Yes. Stay with me. So, you know the donor’s reception banquet is in two days, right?”

“Right,” nodded John.

“Did you know Missy’s office has been in-charge of all the planning? I know, for a fact, that the Missy office has setup everything using their phones and computers. Part of the university’s initiative to cut back on paper. John, we’re talking: the guest list, seating charts, catering, EVERYTHING.”

“And why do we care?”

 “Heard it through the grapevine. But, Missy’s up for promotion!”

“Clara, how is thi-,” began John.

“Interrupt me again and I’ll slap you so hard you’ll forget your own name,” threatened Clara. John went very silent. Clara jumped up from her chair and twirled on the spot. She had a wicked grin on her face.

“Imagine the embarrassment, John. It would ruin her reputation if we got into that system and messed it all up.”

“Have you gone positively BANANAS?” panicked John. He swiftly moved towards the door to check if anyone was right outside.

“No, no. Hear me out one sec,” cried Clara turning to face him.

“Clara, if we do something like this. Missy won’t get fired. Nor would she get promoted. She’d stay right where she is. There’ll be more pain and misery… FOR ALL OF US!”

“You know what, John,” stomped Clara with her foot. “I don’t care. After all she’s done. To you and me, and god knows who else. I want to mortify and fluster that woman. And this is my chance. I know, you’d destroy her if you could. So, here’s your chance, man. We can do this!”

“I… Clara, I’m just a professor. My hands are bound. We can’t break into her office. That’s against University code. And illegal. I’ll lose my job,” said John dejected. His body was overcome with nervous energy that he just could not shake off. He closed his eyes and counted.

Clara strode over to him. Then eyeing him keenly, she placed her hand on his cheek. Once John realized she was touching him, he felt a slight panic in his chest but remained still. There was something very comforting about her. He always felt calmer around her.

“John,” said Clara softly. “I know and have seen what you can do. Whatever this job is. Or whatever or whoever comes in your way. You are more incredible, more awesome, and there will always be more to you than you can ever imagine.” She pulled her hand away.

John opened his eyes and looked at her. “I don’t know what I did to deserve your friendship, Clara Oswald.”

Clara remained silent and just winked at him.


	22. Chapter 22

“Who you texting?” asked Danny between bites of his sandwich. He was doing his best to balance both the grading and his lunch on his lap.

“John-,” said Clara teasingly.

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Clara. Your Professor Smith does not text.”

“Should I be worried, Danny? You seem to know a lot about John. Maybe, I should give you his number. Perhaps take him out... on a date?” With a sudden motion, she grabbed Danny’s leg. Danny jumped and dropped his grading, but managed to save his lunch. Clara burst into a fit of maniacal laughter.

“Your impish ways will get you into helluva load of trouble someday.”

“Will it now?” said Clara, sticking out her tongue. Danny grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up, while Clara just screamed with laughter.

* * *

“Alright, we’re meeting him here,” whispered Clara to John. They were at their favorite pub. Clara had ordered two pints, but made sure to order an orange juice for John.

“Why do I get orange juice? _What kind of pub offers orange juice_?” said John outraged.

“Shh, the manager’s a pal of mine now. So, about old school friend. Had some shady deals in his past, but he really knows his stuff.”

“Gah, I’m bored. I can’t sit here. I’ll start bantering about oranges.”

“Will you just FOCUS for a minute?” whispered Clara with exasperation. “My friend, we call him Psy-,”

“Psy-?”

“Yes. Short for ‘psycho’, ‘cept he really isn’t. Just a massive fan of _The Sonics_.”

“Seriously? They’re rubbish.”

“Do me a favor. Don’t open your mouth. Just nod when I nod.” Her phone buzzed. “He’s here.”

Psy walked in through the pub door and immediately spotted Clara. He was sporting a line up haircut and a black leather jacket. He jogged over to the table and greeted Clara with a cheek kiss and a hug.

“Psy, this is my friend, John.”

“Hello, John,” said Psy extending his hand. John shook his hand, then turned to look at Clara without saying anything. Clara nodded her head towards Psy, but John remained still. Psy felt awkward.

“Okay…,” said Psy, after an uncomfortable moment.

“Never mind him, Psy. I think he isn’t feeling too good.” She pushed John into their booth and sat down beside him. “Ordered you a drink.”

“Very nice of you. Thanks,” said Psy, taking a swig out of the glass. “Alright, I’ve got your stuff.” He pulled out a black leather case and placed it on the table. He zipped open the case and laid it open flat. “So, from what you’ve described. You’ve got two security cameras, one keypad door lock, and probably an unrestricted control key.” His eyes drifted towards John’s glass of orange juice. “Orange and vodka, eh? Good choice.”

“‘It’s _concentrated_ ,’” said John wearily. Psy looked confused. Clara rolled her eyes.

“Okay. Coming back to this,” reconvened Psy. “It’ll be difficult for you to manage the cameras alone. I can help with that. But, you’re going to have to insert this.” From the case, he pulled out a small iPod-like device with a small USB jack on the end of it. He held up the USB jack. “Insert this into the bottom right corner of the keypad lock. It’s where the IT guys plug in to collect info on which magnetic cards were used to swipe open the door. This iPod thing is like a reverse-Wiegand interface. Since Weigand is limited to 16 bit code, this tiny will be able to decode it.”

“Was I supposed to understand any of that?” asked Clara.

“Just stick this the end into the lock and press this button,” said Psy. “As for the control key, you’re gonna need old fashion tools. Key pick set.” He pointed to the various pointed and curved instruments in the leather case. “I’ll need to give you a quick tutorial on how to use these, but you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Psy!”

“ _The Sonics_ \- pfft,” mumbled John.

“What did you say?” bewildered Psy.

“‘D’ya know why the orange stopped rollin’ down the hill?’”

“Huh?”

“‘ _It ran out of juice_!’”

“Ignore him, Psy,” said Clara.

“No. That was actually pretty good. Never heard that one before.”

“‘So, this orange walks into a bar-,’” began John.

“ _Nuff bantering, John._ Psy, again, thank you for doing this!”

“My pleasure. Though, won’t it be safer if I hacked into her system from the compute lounge or something. Better than running the risk of you getting caught.”

“And take away the satisfaction of doing it myself?”

“Alright. You’re the boss,” laughed Psy as he finished his drink. “I need to head back to work. John, it was nice meeting you. Keep up the banter. Lovely Clara,” he took her hand and kissed it. “Meet at Jen’s tonight, okay?”

“Right,” smiled Clara.

After Psy left, John and Clara strolled out of the pub and headed back to their building. John had his hands stuffed into his pockets, and Clara tucked her arms together. It was a windy day, and the two were enjoying the wind blowing past.

“I still had another orange joke left,” said John quietly.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“It’s a knock, knock joke. You’ll need to participate.”

“Alright,” she clasped her hands together and pointed at him with her index fingers. “You’ll have to start us off.”

“Okay. Make sure to give time for a pause. Here goes. ‘Knock, knock.’”

“Ahem. _Who’s there, pray_?” said Clara with her best Queen Victoria accent.

“Oh, come on. That’s not fair. You’re stealing my thunder!”

“Do you want to finish this joke or not?”

“Ugh. Fine. ‘Knock, knock.’”

“Who’s there?” asked Clara in her normal tone.

“Banana-”

“Banana?!” exclaimed Clara, “Where did-?” She noticed how John’s eyebrows were crossed. “Ahem. Sorry. Banana, who?”

 _“‘ORANGE you glad I didn’t say ‘banana’?!’”_ smiled John with a shrug. “See, that one was funny.”

Clara slapped her forehead with a laugh. It didn’t matter how corny his jokes were. _She was just awfully glad to see him smiling more often now._


	23. Chapter 23

“Oh-my-god, Clara! You look amay-zing,” cried Jen.

Draped in a silhouetting A-line halter, Clara’s skin pulsated with goosebumps when she realized Jen's presence inside her room. Her hair was wrapped upwards, her nape and her shoulders were exposed. It was the first time she ever dared to hop into a fashionably expensive outfit.

“You were supposed to wait-.”

“I couldn’t wait,” screamed Jen, clapping her hands. “Lawd, look at you. Sexy as fuck.”

“Shut up. It’s all you. You picked this out.”

“Damn right, I did. Didn’t realize I was that good,” laughed Jen. She threw her hands up and twirled. “Aye, realist gal. I’ll be realist. _You’ll give J.B. a woody tonight_.”

“Y-, y-, you’re kidding, right?” said Clara queasily. She threw her hand to her face to hide the deep reddening in her cheeks. Suddenly, she felt squeamish; particularly as she could feel her hips twist on the chair. Her heart was pounding and a faint dread crept into her chest. She could not fully understand why her body was acting the way it was. Yet, inwardly, she knew. She was to remain resolute. She would not let any chance or any being in the universe ever harbor any inclinations about how her entire person went haywire every time she was reminded of John’s existence.

“ _Fucking stupid human body chemistry,_ ” she would swear to herself. “ _It’s nothing but fucking stupid nerves_.”

Ever since John had shushed her in the corridor and completely mistook her for his new secretary, she was always excited to be around him. He had always made things inconvenient; she still gutted for him. Ultimately, however, it was when John had practically half-carried her through Glasgow, in search for a loo, did _Clara’s adamantine heart fall to bits for him_. In that insanely, small and irrelevant moment, she noted John’s actions as the embodiment of his most notable trait, which was his unabated loyalty for those people he feels responsible to care for. In all of time and space, within those few moments, John had tended to her like she were the only thing in the universe to preserve. Neither was there anything significant about her, nor the physical discomfort experienced from eating too much curry. It did not matter how not-so-dire the situation was. John acted because it was his duty to care. _It was who he was, and she always adored him for it._

So, why hide her feelings for him? Why not tell him how she felt about him? Simply put, Clara was fearful. It had taken her ten whole years to put herself back together. Ten years of piecing together every broken bit of her life that had been shattered by the death of Ellie Oswald. Ambition, gallantry, invigoration were things she had place on a shelf and forget about, all so she could focus on caring for a heart-broken father. For several months following their bereavement, Dave Oswald could scarcely breathe without a drop of liquor in his system. Dozens, upon dozens, of visits per month to the Priory… the depression recovery support group, the AA meetings, the one-on-one bereavement counselor meetings, the peer-encouragement meetings, etc. Fortunately, she qualified for work as an English teacher to help her dad pay the mortgage and the mounting debts that resulted from meeting Dave’s needs. For years, before even Linda appeared on the scene. After all this ache, would she dare risk destroying her only chance of accomplishing all her dreams and desires by betraying her gut to John? _Never!_

“Clara-,” interrupted Jen, noting how Clara was unresponsive. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Christ, no,” exploded Clara. “Do you ever listen to yourself, Jen? Why do you even say shit like that?”

“Oh, sorry. My bad,” said Jen unkindly. “I forget that you’re the one full on hotness hypnosis by sergeant Boy Scout.”

“FUCK ME SIDEWAYS, JENNIFER RIGGINS,” exclaimed Clara. She sprang to her feet and angrily turned on Jen. “Danny Pink! He’s called Danny Pink! And he’s my boyfriend! Also, John and I, we are not a thing! WE WILL NEVER BE A THING. So stop trying to insinuate things!”

“Jesus Christ, Clara,” said Jen solemnly. “INSINUATE?! After all the shit you’ve endure to help the bastard?”

“Jen, I’m done talking about this,” said Clara.

“No, we’re not. I’m calling your bullshit. I’m not anyone to judge your thing with John. But don’t you think, even for one second that I don’t know what you’re doing. Danny’s a douche. And you’re still lying to him about John!”

“Danny can grow a pair if he finds out,” said Clara ferociously. “Get out!”

“Ah, yes. I’m sure he’ll appreciate all the lies you’ve told him. Oh wait, you don’t give two shits about him. Fancy that, he’ll only really know what you think about him when he finds out.”

“Whatever, Jen, whatever,” said Clara sitting down to resume applying her make-up.

Jen rolled her eyes. She turned to walk out of the bedroom before turning back to face Clara. “What if John lied to you? How would you feel?”

* * *

Rain. It rippled against the office window. John idly traced the water patterns with his finger as he drained the last vestiges of a small malt bottle. Nothing mattered anymore. He no longer cared what people thought about him.

“Go tae hell,” he shouted. “Fuck every single one of ‘em.”

John dropped the bottle to the floor as he crashed into his chair. He now considered himself inebriated enough to be charming. He would be charming, alright. And tonight, he would charm the daylights out of anyone. Anyone to save Darling River from the embarrassment of being married to a derelict cenobite. They had been married twenty-four years; ten of which he had wasted to grief.  _He knew in his heart they still loved each other_. But it was no longer the kind of feeling two people got from being around each other. He simply remained devoted to her because she was his wife and his responsibility. Over the past ten years, guilt and shame had effectively overpowered him and rendered him useless to her as a husband. He became irritable; always anxious and depressed. Whatever intimacy they tried to maintain between them would always dissolve. _He had utterly failed her._

Recovering from his thoughts, John pulled out a pack of spearmint gum and popped several sticks into his mouth. He proceeded to unbutton his shirt and toss it on the couch where his trousers lay. Unsheathing the double breasted peak lapels from the dry cleaning packing, John pulled out a crisp white shirt. He remembered to check his undershirt for whiskey stains. Noticing the several noticeable splotches on the front, he tore off the undershirt and stuffed it into a drawer. Then, he quickly slipped into the crisp white and the iron pleated black trouser. Seeing the black tie, which accompanied the suit, John took it, spit his gum into it, and tossed the wad into a bin. From an ornate box on his shelf, he pulled out a silky black cravat and tied it around his collar. He glanced at his watch.

“Late as usual,” he mumbled to himself.

As soon as he had uttered those words, there was gentle knock on the door. The handle turned and a silhouetted figure entered the room.

“ _Ready, sweetie_?”

“Yes,” breathed John as the figure drifted to his side. “You look beautiful, River.”

“I see the suit I picked out fits you well.” She patted his belly. “Yeah. I got the measurements, right. Though you may have put on another pound or two since I last saw you though.”

“Stress, perhaps.”

She moved her hands to his face and brought it down to hers until their foreheads touched. Her eyes were closed as she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I shouldn’t have said what I said,” said John kissing his wife’s wrists. “Forgive me?”

“Forgiven,” smiled River. She ran her hand across his shaven face and combed his wavy hair with her fingers. “You should have done your roots.”

“Won’t you appreciate your husband’s silver locks,” smiled John.

“It does make you look foxy, especially with that cravat I’d gotten you years ago.”

“I have always kept it safe.”

“John,” said River teasing his hair and caressing his neck. “Try and stay happy for me tonight, please?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” mouthed John. River pulled his cheek towards her and kissed it.

“Thank you!” she sniffed. “Okay. Your jacket and we’ll be off.”

“Yes, Mrs. Smith,” said John cheerily. “After you-,” he held the door for her.

“See you by the elevator.”

After she exited the office, John threw on his dinner jacket and returned to the ornate box. From it, he pulled out a ring which had an amber green stone set into it. It was the wedding band he had chosen to be married with twenty-four years ago precisely because it had reminded him of River’s eyes. On their wedding day, after she had placed it on his finger, John swore never to take it off. And he never did. At least, not until ten years ago.

“Time to go,” he breathed to himself.


	24. Chapter 24

Standing outside on the carpeted stone steps to Ingraham Hall, John and River remained arm-in-arm in the drizzling rain. There was considerable queue to the banquet hall. Every year, the University held a charity banquet meant to attract several big-wig donors and alumni to give back to their respective colleges. Given its purpose as a fundraiser, professors and students were often awarded special honors in recognition of their work, which was partly a show meant to further elevate the University’s esteem. Whatever it was supposed to mean, John was too drunk to care. He would keep swaying, or continue to make comments to annoy River.

“Look at that one,” said John, pointing to a big and tall man several yards away in front of them. “He’s got enough fat cells to make another human.”

“John,” whispered River. “Stop pointing!”

“Hokay, hokay,” chuckled John. “But, look at him. He’s got white hair and he’s balding! You should go and ask him to get his roots done.”

“John, stop. That man is the program director for my college. My boss! Please try and show a little respect.”

“Why? Are you sleeping with him too?”

“I swear-,” whispered River ferociously as she clutched John's arm. “This is neither the time nor the place for a domestic.”

“Fine. We’ll schedule one. Let’s say Friday, 2 pm. In your office.” said John coolly.

“I’ll get back to you on that one,” gritted River between her teeth. “Need to check my diary.”

“Alright. I just wanted to know. Given he’s the boss, you know.”

“No. Nothing. Of the sort.”

Ahead of John and River, the large man had excused himself from a conversation he was having with the group of people surrounding him. Feeling the discomfort of the black tie around his neck, he had placed his large fingers between his collar and his neck to provide ease. In doing so, he turned his head in the direction of where John and River stood. Noticing River, he broke away from the queue and started to take several long strides towards them.

“Oh my god,” whispered John. “He must be in love with you. Look at his face.”

“Shut! Up!” whispered River through her teeth. “ _Monsieur Hydroflaux*_ , how are you?”

“For you _, belle Madame, je suis Grégoire,_ ” spoke Grégoire with a thick French accent.

“He’s French…YEO-CHRI-st!!!” groaned John; hurting of the bruise caused by the impact of River’s stilettos on his shin.

Approaching River, Grégoire awkwardly bent over to kiss both her hands. He completely ignored John and continued a casual conversation in French with River. Weirded by the entire scene, John stood frozen in place. Not knowing how to respond. He could make out a few words. He heard the phrase ‘ _beaux yeux’_ which he knew meant ‘beautiful eyes’. _The man was full on flirting with his wife!_

“Ugh, god,” thought John viciously to himself. “Get a room _-_.”

“ _Excuse moi_?” bellowed Grégoire. He turned to face John but was simply towering over him. John found himself shrinking quickly under Grégoire stare. He glanced over to River. She had shut her eyes and appeared to be mouthing swear words. Seeing her, it dawned on John that he had said something out aloud.

“John cleared his throat. Then he clapped his feet and his arms together in an at-attention position. He threw his hand forward and said with a terrible French accent, “Ahem. _Monsieur_ Ee-dro-fool _. Je suis,_ um _… le_ huz _-band._ Er, um. _Par nom de_ Smith.”

“ _Smee-th_?”

“ _Oui_ ,” answered John. His phone rang. “Uh. _Pardon_. I need to get this.”

He flashed a toothy grin at Grégoire, then turned and kissed his wife’s cheeks. “Why don’t you two carry on?” he said to River.

Red-faced and furious, River simply stared at him and mouthed, “I’m going to kill you!”

“ _Pardon, pardon, mesdames et messieurs_ ,” announced John in a bad accent as he bumped into several people behind him. “ _Pardon_ … I mean, sorry. Sorry!”

John staggered away from the queue and now stood beside a valet. The valet eyed him suspiciously, while John fumbled with his suit to pull out the loudly sounding device from his pockets. After several moments, he was finally able to answer the phone.

“John! I’m in your office. Where are you?!!” came a voice from the phone.

“Clara-?!” cried John. _Shit_! He had forgotten all about sabotaging Missy. “Er _,_ I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

“15 minutes?! What the fuck, John? We don’t have that time!”

“I’m sorry, Clara. I was, um, I was…”

“No, I don’t want to hear it! Listen, Psy already cut off the cameras in the hallways. He said they’ll be off only for an hour. It’s now or never!”

“But Clara, we don’t even know if Missy, Seb, or Spooner have left the office yet.”

“Well, I’m going to find out-.”

“Clara, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“What is up with you, man? We’ve gotta do this. Or at least, I’m definitely going to. I’m gonna fuck this event up for her and no one can stop me!”

“Clara, wait-,” hesitated John. “Why are you doing this? You have a beautiful, wonderful life ahead of you. Missy is undefeatable. Even if you succeed, it’ll just be the one hiccup in her almost perfect career. She’ll still get promoted; and she’ll still create hell. It’s her nature. But if you get caught tonight…she’ll ruin you! Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

“John-,” spoke Clara tenderly. “She might win the war, but I want her to lose, just this once. She’s already abused you enough, John. The blackmail, the harassment, it’s all unjust! And I want vengeance on your behalf… For you. _I’m doing all of this for my best friend_.”

“Clara-,” said John defeated. He could feel his heart beat so fast, it made him dizzy.

“ _John, I-,_ ” said Clara quickly before stopping abruptly.

“Yes, my Clara?”

“Come and find me.”

* * *

“Breathe, Clara Oswald, breathe,” said Clara gripping her phone tightly.

She was leaning on John’s desk, biting down on the knuckles of her free hand. Her heart pounded inside her chest. _She had almost said it_. But she wasn’t sure why she wanted to say it. It was like a sudden madness. “Adrenaline, dopamine…perhaps because I’m about to commit a crime,” she thought. Whatever caused it, she now had to stay on guard. There was just too much happening and so little focus on her part.

“Must concentrate,” she said aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *As you all may have figured out by now, I’ve done my best to pull several minor characters from the Whoniverse. King Hydroflax, as you may remember, was partly played by Greg Davies. In this story, I wanted the character to be as real-life and as ridiculous as I could manage. So, I chose to make him a French character and give him the name Grégoire Hydroflaux (pronounced: Greyg-gwar Ee-d-row-flow).


	25. Chapter 25

Unlike the other L-shaped floors of St. Andrews Hall, the fourth floor was narrow and relatively isolated from the rest of the building. Apart from the elevator, which connected to all the other floors, the only other exit was a staircase that led down exclusively to the third floor and perhaps the outside fire escape which was located at the very far end of the corridor. Given the fourth floor belonged to the administrators of the English department, the major residents of the floor included Spooner, Seb, and Missy. Clara had already been there several times to know the exact layout of the entire floor. The elevator was exactly opposite Seb's door, and Seb's office led directly into Missy's office and a coat closet. So, _the plan was relatively simple._ Psy had already disabled the two hall cameras, which permitted Clara to move around without being recorded. She just had to get into Seb's keypad locked office and pick Missy's more traditionally locked door. Clara and John had already agreed that it would be a bad move to use the elevator, especially since anyone on all the other floors could see it being used. So, she planned to use the staircase.

“Alright, one hour till all the speeches,” breathed Clara as she checked her watch. She stood cautiously in the dark, at the top of the stairs, and behind the doors which opened right onto the fourth floor. Peeking through the small window in the door, Clara noticed how all the lights were still on. She felt a sudden rush of butterflies in her stomach. How she wished John was standing beside her.

“John, please get here quick.” thought Clara to herself. “Gawd, what if they’re all still in there?”

Suddenly, all the lights on the floor went off. Reflexively, Clara ducked. Moments later, she picked up the courage to take another peek. Under the light of an open elevator, she saw two figures standing beside the elevator doors. Clara recognized them as the two secretaries who worked with Spooner. She watched them until a third, heavier figure joined them. _It was Spooner!_

“They’re the last ones leaving for the party, yay!” cried Clara silently.

Once they had left, the whole office was dark again. Clara flicked on her pocket torch and slipped in through the door. She ran lightly across the corridor and stopped right in front of Seb’s office door. Looking down the great corridor, Clara wanted to be sure no one was inside any of the rooms in that corridor. Noting how entirely empty the floor was, she slipped the torch into the space between her chin and chest, and pulled out the iPod-key lock opener. Fiddling with the USB plug, Clara spent several moments feeling for the outline of the port with the plug, before managing to push it in. Relieved, Clara jockeyed the device as Psy had instructed her. She heard the keypad buzz and the door come unlock. _She was in!_

Yet, whatever slight relief she felt within those moments, quickly washed away. When _out of the blue_ , Clara heard several loud knocks against a glass plane. Her body shuddered with fear. The torch had fallen to the ground and rolled far away from her.

“Fuck. I’m so dead,” thought Clara.

She stood dead still and cowered against Seb’s door in the darkness as she listened. Her heart was beating so fast in her ears, she could not say if she were hearing everything correctly. She wanted so badly to turn around and make sure no one was behind her, but she was too scared to move. Several moments passed by and Clara remained frozen in place. She felt there were moments when she could hear another breath in the corridor, but she was not sure. She was never sure. Easing herself over the handle of the door, Clara hid the device in her purse, and resumed pushing against it. The door creaked open. This was such a nightmare!

Hoping to slip into Seb’s office, Clara imagined herself disappear from the corridor. If nothing else, she could hide inside the closet until the coast was clear. With the lone thought of hiding, Clara pushed against the door. Halfway past the door frame, without warning, Clara felt a hand cover her mouth and another arm around her waist. Immediately, her body buckled, and she attempted to twist around to face her attacker. The door clicked shut behind them.

“Clara, it’s me,” whispered John wildly. Hearing his voice, Clara eased abruptly. He placed her gently on the ground, only to receive an audible slap once she had turned to face him.

“Yeow! Fuck me-,” cried John, rubbing his face.

“That’s for fucking scaring me to death,” cried Clara furiously.

“Clara, I’m sorry. I had tae be sure it was you.”

“Who else were you thinking was gonna be here?!!”

“Never mind that, Clara. Saw Seb walking into the building,” rambled John. Suddenly, they both heard the sound of the elevator. _It was too late!_

“Coat closet-,” whispered Clara dragging John by his lapels.

The two slipped inside the extremely tight closet space. Someone was punching numbers on the keypad outside the door. Despite being well-hid, John could feel Clara’s petite figure tremble against his. Instinctively, he placed one arm across her shoulders, and the other on the back of her head. He pulled her against his chest, and rested his chin on her head. Listening to John’s rapid heartbeat, Clara realized she wasn’t the only one frightened by the whole thing. She took immense comfort from that and the thought that John was trying his best to make her feel safe.

* * *

“That’s what I saw,” sounded an excited voice. “You’d think anyone would realize how serious this has become. Christ, the gossip’s rife. Everyone knows about it.”

“I think he’s on the phone,” whispered John into Clara’s ear. She was tickled by his breath in her ear. Trying to stifle a reaction, Clara simply bit her lower lip and pressed her face into the center of John’s chest.

“Right,” said Seb. “She’s fucking him. Yea, yea. _Fucking that frog_ ….”

From listening to Seb’s words, Clara noted the drastic change in John’s demeanour. She felt his ribs and shoulders tense severely, and how his body grew warmer. Though his fists were all balled up, she felt his arms grip her a little more strongly than before. Not knowing what else to do, Clara passed her arms around his waist and hugged him back.

“Ok. I’ll be over soon. Have to grab a couple papers for the donors. See ya soon, handsome! Bye.”

From inside the closet, John and Clara heard Seb open the door to Missy’s office and walk inside. Clara took this as her chance to help John calm down.

“Hey. I know something’s wrong,” whispered Clara gently. She placed her hands on his cheeks, and caressed his face with her thumb. “Don’t fret.”

John grunted a response, while Clara slipped her hands around his waist again. He held her more gently now, but Clara still felt his distress. The two continued to stand quiet and very still; until they heard Seb leave the office and the elevator sound. Clara shakily pushed open the closet door and stepped out. She was still holding John’s hand as he followed her out. She reached out and flicked on the lights. The sudden brightness hurt both their eyes, and their hands slipped away. When their eyes had adjusted, they both simply gazed at each other.

“You, um-,” said John dazed. “Er, um…”

“Okay,” said Clara smiling. “I know what you’re trying to say. And, I don’t think you look bad yourself. Nice touch with the cravat.”

John laughed. “Ahem. I, um, am sorry if I scared you. I had to come up the fire escape to avoid Seb and warn you.”

“Oh, that explains the knocking against the glass! I didn’t know what to think. God, we’ve lost so much time already.”

“Clara,” said John grabbing her hand with both his hands and pulling it towards his chest. “Don’t do this.”

“John-,” protested Clara.

“Clara, we don’t need this,” said John shaking his head. Clara detected a slight weariness in his voice. “We don’t need hurt anyone, tae feel better. Because trust me, you’ll never feel any better.”

“You’re right,” sighed Clara. “What was I trying to do?”

“Let’s just go,” said John smiling. “Let’s go celebrate you, lass. Not waste another fucking breath here.”

“Right,” grinned Clara. “I’m not gonna climb down a fire escape though.”

“We’ll take the stairs,” said John cheerily. He kissed her hand. “Thank you for everything, Clara Oswald! But I should have been a better friend and not let you come this far.”

“Let’s just forget we even wanted this. C’mon. We’re gonna be late!”

“Alright. We’re gonna get rid of all yer tools first. My office!”

John and Clara trekked down to the office where they hid Clara’s purse in the bookshelf. She had left her coat in the office prior to heading upstairs, and John helped it onto her. Then he offered her his left arm, and she took it. As they left the building, Clara spotted a campus bus which was headed by Ingraham Hall. The two got on board, and hopped off 15 minutes later.

“I’m so proud of you,” said John as the couple stood beside each other in the hallway leading up to the banquet.

“I have only you to thank-,” said Clara as she grabbed his left hand. She felt his wedding band around his finger. “What’s this? You, um, wear a ring now?”

“Oh, this-,” smiled John weakly as he balled his left hand into a fist. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Nothing-?!” asked a voice behind them.

John and Clara turned simultaneously to see who was speaking to them. _It was River Song_.


	26. Chapter 26

“Nothing-?” repeated River.

“River-?” sounded John and Clara together. Realizing the other was acquainted with River, John and Clara turned to each other.

“Clara, how do you know-?” asked John, pointing to River.

“She, we, er, met in a corridor,” wondered Clara. “She saved me from Missy on my first day.” She turned to face River, smiled and spoke warmly, “And she’s been an awesome influence at the school. Been super-involved with our kids…It’s been awhile, River. How are you-?”

“Christ…,” swore John under his breath. He turned his head away from the two women.

“Is she why you’ve been avoiding me?” asked River coldly. “ _Bit young._ Why didn’t you say?”

“Because this is none of your business-,” turned John on River. With his brows furrowed, he was inches apart from River’s face; he continued in an angry tone, “I don’t have tae tell you anything, remember? Wasn’t that the deal?”

“Deal-?” interrupted Clara as she crossed her arms. None of this was making sense to her. “I’m sorry. _How do you know each other?”_

“Fair enough,” smirked River in John’s face. She met his gaze and growled, “Boffing aside _. Didn’t you even have the decency to tell her_?”

“Don’t you-,” began John furiously.

“ _Oh dear gods, I must be in heaven-,”_ came a dramatic sounding voice.

Casting his eyes behind where River stood to face them, John was horrified to see a dusky purple figure approach. Missy had arrived on cue, with a drink in hand and an ever embarrassed-looking Seb in tow.

“Pinch me, Seb. I must be dreaming! Look at how our guests are all huddled up together _._ ”

“OHH IN FFFUCKKING HELL!!!” cried John loudly. His voice was so loud; it drew the attention of every person dispersed within the parameter of the large hallway.

“Ma’am; I think we should, um, let Mr. and Mrs. Smith carry on-,” swallowed Seb. “Without interruption.”

 “Dare speak out of turn, ever again, Seb!” said Missy acidly. “ _Get your poof arse out of here._ ”

Seb left without another word. Missy reverted her attention to her victims, “Where was I? Ah, yes...Waiting for an invite to join the orgy.”

“FUCK OFF!” shouted John. Shaking with rage, his fists were clenched, and his eyes appeared blood-shot. Worried that he might do something regrettable, Clara gripped his arm and pulled him several yards away from both River and Missy.

“Not a chance, Mister Smith. It’s my night after all,” said Missy. She approached River’s side and said, “Well, well, Mrs. Smith. Finally catch the hubby in the act, eh? Makes up for all the times you were melting someone else’s wand.”

Instinctively, John made a sudden movement towards Missy, but Clara managed to block his advance by using her weight to push back into him.

“Get away from me, cuntbag,” growled River fiercely.

“You know, River, I always thought we should get some ‘girl-on-girl’ action going... See if John gets all horny.”

“Don’t you fucking dare talk tae my wife like that?”

From the sparring conversation, Clara realized that John and River had been married. However, this fact had not completely sunk into Clara’s brain. Not until she heard the word “wife” roll off John’s tongue. Then it hit her. Everything River had told her, months ago, about being married _twenty-four years_. “ _She was talking about John... my John_ ,” thought Clara. As she continued to lean into him, she felt his entire body had stiffened up. His hands were clenched, but they still shook. She looked up at him. His bloodshot eyes met hers. And though she did not know any more details of his past life, within that short moment, Clara could feel all the hurt John had stuffed inside of him. His eyes told her everything; they were alight with deepening regret, sorrow, and of course, love. Still staring into his unfocused, murky blue eyes, Clara wrapped her hand over his left hand. Feeling the wedding band against the palm of her hand, she felt her heart sink to the new-found awareness of the entire drama that unfolded before her. She blinked away her tears, as she thought to herself, “ _He still loves River_.”

“Tch, tch, hear that River? Hubby’s still protective of you,” sparred Missy. She turned to face John. “What is it, John? Still in love with your wife? Will you forgive her after all she’s done to you?”

“Leave-,” said Clara sternly.

“My god, the puppy speaks! What was that my wittle Claw-ruff?”

“Leave, or else.”

“Or else what, bitch?” asked Missy with an accent.

“I will make a complaint with Mrs. Hughes.”

“Mrs. Hughes? The ole’ hag who runs reception-? Ha. Is she your _hit-woman_?”

“The Harassment Advisor for the department. Once a complaint is made, there will be a formal investigation,” smirked Clara. “And regardless of whether your guilt can be proven, imagine the embarrassment.”

“Hm, someone’s ready to play poker with devil,” said Missy with gritted teeth as she took several paces towards Clara. John shuffled slightly, but Clara remained unmoved in front of him. Stopping short a yard from Clara's stance, Missy crossed her arms, and continued, “I think you’ll find Clara Oswald that it is very dangerous to cross me directly. If I were you, I’d watch my back.”

“I’m not worried,” said Clara in a quiet voice.

“We’ll see about that,” whispered Missy as she walked away.

Once Missy was out of ear shot, John grabbed Clara by the arms and turned her around violently, “Why’d you do that? Didn’t I tell you to stay away from her?!”

“Leave her, John,” said River admiringly, “Clara knows what she’s doing.”

“I can’t… I can’t let her hurt you,” said John feebly. He cupped Clara face for a moment before dropping his hands to his sides. John looked incredibly distressed now. His breathing grew rapid as he heaved his chest. Sensing his discomfort, Clara touched his arm. John placed his hand over hers, and continued in a voice above a whisper, “Go home, Clara. Pack your bags. We’re getting you on a plane.”

“Why?” Clara asked utterly confused. “John, are you okay?”

“No-,” whispered John hoarsely.

“John-,” cried Clara as he swayed wildly towards the wall. Gasping for breath, John struggled with his cravat. Acting swiftly, River moved to his side and undid his cravat.

“Sweetie,” sounded River with a soothing voice. She used her fingers to create more room between the collar and his neck. “Tell me what you need right now.”

“We need to make sure… Missy doesn’t know our plan, River,” panicked John. “Clara needs time to get away. Please help me, River. I’ll do anything.”

“I promise to help you, John,” said River firmly. “But we need to get to a quieter room first, okay?”

“I-,” swallowed Clara.

“He’s experiencing an anxiety attack,” said River calmly to Clara. “We need to move him to some place quieter. You need to stay calm, okay?” \

Clara nodded.

“We need tae protect Clara,” shouted John. “Where’s Clara Oswald?”

“I’m here,” said Clara gently.

“Okay,” swallowed John, clutching her wrist. “Stay with River, okay. Because if something happens to me, she’ll be the one to protect you, okay?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” said Clara.

“YA DINNAE THAT!!”

“John, I need you to focus,” reassured River, “We need to get away from here- all of us. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” whimpered John.

“You’re going to get through this,” encouraged River. “You need to let go of Clara’s wrist. Good job!”

* * *

“My heart-,” said John sitting on a bench. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“John, where’s your medication?” demanded River.

“He doesn’t take it anymore,” said Clara. “John said the doctor stopped it because it increased his symptoms. It’s why he keeps ending up in A&E.”

“Christ! John’s been lying to you,” sighed River. “It’s the alcohol. It messes with his medication. That’s why he was in A&E the last time. If he’s stopped now, it’s because he’s been drinking too much. I will have to call 999.”

“Clara?” called John.

“Keep him calm. Try and figure out if he’s been drinking,” said River to Clara. “I swear, that man always manages to cover his tracks.”

“I’m right here-,” said Clara kneeling next to John. She placed her hand over his, and used her other hand to dab the sweat off his face with a handkerchief. “You’re doing great, John!”

Tears were running down the sides of John’s face as he clutched her hand. “Please don’t hate me, Clara. If I die… please don’t hate me.”

“I could NEVER hate you,” said Clara wiping his tears. “Just concentrate on your breathing, okay?”

“They’re asking if he’s on anything-,” interrupted River.

Clara turned to River, “Lips cracked. He’s dehydrated. He must have had some before getting here.”

“Clara-,” sobbed John, “I can’t let her hurt you.”

“John," whispered Clara. "I will never let her touch me, right? We’re both safe!”


	27. Chapter 27

Bearing down on the Riggins’ apartment door, Clara Oswald leaned wearily against the doorframe. It had now been three hours since John’s anxiety attack. While they waited for the peak moment to pass, John had his sweaty head slumped between his and Clara’s hands. His breath fell short and hot upon Clara, as she knelt opposite where he sat, speaking gentle words into his ears. Once the ambulance had pulled up, a paramedic advised transfer to A&E after ruling the probability of complications related to his alcohol intake and the unknown presence of anti-depressants in his system. Given River was family, she was elected to accompany John in the ambulance; leaving Clara behind to catch up in a cab. With the unexpected traffic block from a collision on the M3, she was delayed 30 minutes until she arrived to the hospital. Shooting past the doors of the A&E department, Clara was greeted to news of John’s stable condition. He was being subject to mandatory screen checks. As a result, Clara was forced to wait with River in the visitor’s area.

“Second one in fourteen months-,” said River aloud and casually, “Used to be, what, perhaps four or five every couple months before that. Not all of them would have us end up here though.” Her arms folded neatly over her crossed legs, River curved the corner of her lip as she spoke to Clara.

“He’s got some type of _anxiety_ _dis_ -, er, _order_?” asked Clara.

“Did he not explain?” sat up River. She looked at Clara annoyed, “How long have you known him?!”

“Somewhat over a year and a half,” muttered Clara. “J-, ahem, he’s my super.”

“Right,” droll River. “Should have realized. You, _were the one_ he was worried about letting find out why he, um… Well, you see now.” She looked away from Clara. Her face expressed hurt. “I guess, he just didn’t want to look bad. You can imagine how embarrassing this is for a man….”

“I understand-,” interrupted Clara.

“I mean, especially if he’s seeing you…Makes him look pathetic. Elderly, almost.”

“I-, I-, I’m…,” began Clara.

“This so embarrassed now,” rambled River, “The things I said to you, about my ‘husband’, ha. And you, what happened to solider boy?!”

“Um, River, you’ve got it wrong,” said Clara sheepish. “John and I are not….”

“Yyou aren’t lovers?!”

“ _Wretched wench. Fucking stupid me, fucking stupid John_ …,” thought Clara, “ _Christ, if any-shitting-thing was ever this fucked up!"_ She spoke out loud with an audible sigh, “No, no…John’s NOT…boyfriend. He-, we-, have to work. Long hours. I noticed some things. He said something once.”

“Oh god, Clara! Do forgive me,” said River red-faced. “I just-, er, _assumed_. Wow, I was being horrible. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s, um, okay,” lied Clara. How she wanted to crash to the floor right then and there. “People misunderstand each other, ahem, all the… time.”

“But, you were being so brave,” said River with a laugh. “Standing up to Missy like that. At that moment, I was convinced you were fucking him…Uh, sorry for the crassness. _You are very passionate, Clara_. I admire that.”

“Yea,” said Clara with a sad smile. “Necessary.”

“Yes,” agreed River. “You know, we should get a coffee again sometime.”

“Mrs. Smith-?” interrupted a nurse. Clara opened her mouth to say something, but quickly covered her mouth with her hand and turned her back to the nurse. “ _Shut up, Clara_ ,” she thought to herself.

“Yes?” said River as she approached the nurse.

“You will be more than welcome to take your husband home soon, Mrs. Smith. We have detected no acute side-effects, but we believe his chronic psychological condition is now borderline with his physical health. And given his age and lifestyle, Dr. Adams is concerned that he might soon manifest a heart condition such as arrhythmia. He’s advised Mr. Smith to make an urgent appointment with his therapist.”

“Oh my god,” muttered River, wiping her tears, “I did this… It’s my fault.”

From where she stood quavering, Clara boldly approached River and placed an arm around her. For those few minutes, River rested in Clara’s kind embrace as she settled herself. Clara, too, couldn’t help but keep blinking away her tears.

“I’m taking him home-,” murmured River as she broke away from Clara’s embrace and followed the nurse. “Thank you for waiting, Clara.”

Aware that John was soon to be sped home by River, Clara realized that she did not like the A&E. She could not stand another moment surrounded by broken and hurting bodies. Departing from the hospital, Clara’s eyes were blurred with tears as she ran towards the cab stop. She was in no mood to return home. Danny had left several voice messages for her, but Clara wanted none of it. She turned her phone off before embarking another cab. All she wanted now was Jen & Rigsy, some tea, and their warm couch. The door opened before her.

“Lord, Clara!” cried Rigsy, “We thought it was the police or something!”

“Can I please come in?”

“Yea; of course. Jen, it’s Clara,” called Rigsy as he shut the door behind him. “Are you feeling alright, Clara?”

“I just didn’t want to go home.”

“Clara? Is everything okay?” question Jen with a surprised tone as she drifted into the hallway. Seeing Jen through her tears, Clara could no longer herself back and immediately ran into Jen’s comforting arms.

“I think I’ll get the kettle on,” said Rigsy moving towards the kitchen. “I think an amaretto will do everyone good.”

****

Once Clara had washed up, changed, and drunk her tea, she sat curled up in a blanket with her head in Jen’s lap. Though she was a whole two years younger than Clara, it was Jen who would exude a motherly vibe about her.

“I don't know what I've gotten into myself, Jen,” sniffed Clara. “What was I thinking?”

“You’re in love with him,” said Jen as she caressed Clara’s head.

Clara turned to face Jen and groaned, “H-ow are you so sure?”

“Because. You’re a mess!”

“Christ, everything’s a mess,” growled Clara. “And that John Basil Smith is a fucking liar!”

“He had good reasons.”

“Lying about being married to someone is NEVER a good reason,” yelled Clara jumping up from the couch. “I thought we were friends, Jen.”

“You ARE friends.”

“He swore to do better. He swore to care for himself. What now? What’s the point of this?”

“J.B.’s just doing his best to cope, Clara. We all do.”

“It’s not just that-.”

“What else is there?”

 “Murky blue,” smiled Clara for an instant, “His eyes.”

“How do you mean?” asked Jen slowly.

Clara stood quiet and still as she replayed the moment in her mind. Moments prior, it looked as if he wanted to attack Missy, but when his eyes met hers. “He looked defeated. As if he were dead. But there was also love there.”

“You aren’t making sense, Clara.”

“His heart is broken, Jen. And he won’t let it mend because he still loves her.”

“J.B. still loves his wife?”

“ _Why else would he lie about her ever existing_ , Jen?”

“Still doesn’t explain what triggered his attack….”

“Really?” cried Clara. “Wasn’t he trying to protect her honor? And what about his behavior? All that drinking and smoking and shit he did before I even met him. Wasn’t it all to get her attention…the whore who destroyed their marriage?!”

“I-I don’t know,” sighed Jen.

“ _I gave it all_ _for him_ ,” thought Clara. Fresh tears blurred her vision. “ _My sleep, my sanity, my trust… my heart. But despite all that, all he ever wanted, was his River._ ”


	28. Chapter 28

"Now, I understand how inconvenient this is for everyone," recounted Clara. She passed a stack of papers to one side of the room before gliding to the other side. "Rest assured, your term projects will be reviewed by myself and Professor Spooner."

"Miss Oswald, 'tis tru' that Professor Smith 'ed almost come a cropper at the banquet?"

"Heard he threw a fit!"

"I think you'll find that I'm not one for such indecent blather," said Clara raising her voice, "As I have said before, Professor Smith has opted to take a short break for personal reasons. He has also delegated the task of instruction to myself and Professor Spooner. Do I make myself clear?"

Knowing her rebuke would only have a cursory effect on the students, Clara continued into the lecture. The entire college was rife with rumors of John's “sudden” collapse at the banquet. Indeed, it was Spooner who informed her that John was granted an immediate short-term disability leave till mid-summer. With graduation fast-approaching and a departmental shortage on available lecturers, Clara was recruited to cover John's teaching load.  Midway through her 6 week stint, however, Clara had only just gotten wind of how extensive the rumors were.

"Clara, it isn't policy of mine to discuss trade secrets with students," said Spooner's secretary in the tea room one afternoon. "But... you're one of us now, even though it's a temp job," she said. "So, Seb and I were at lunch recently and spilled some beans. Everyone knows how Missy's been vying for the Associate Dean post for the past three years. Last year, the board created the program director post, and appointed some nutter Frenchman. But, of course, he's more powerful than the Dean himself." Suddenly, her calm and collected voice drops almost below a whisper. Clara noted it was because Mrs. Hughes had just walked in. "Six months ago," continued the secretary, "Missy and the Frenchman were introduced at a committee meeting... They've been "meeting up" since."

"I don't... How's this relevant?"

"Don't play coy. Everyone knows about your soldier boy," smirked the secretary.

"What-?"

"Clara, my dear. There are next to no secrets in this department. Take Prof Smith, we all knew he drank. Been at it for years. But it's the same story with every cuck. Poor bugger still loves the wife enough to try and protect her. Damn shame though. He's too god damned sexy to deserve that. But I'm willing to bet, a good girl like you is too committed to her trooper to notice," she cackled.

Clara had a sudden urge to punch the secretary’s teeth in. To distract herself, she took a long drawn sip out of her mug.

"Lord knows, how many of us, secretaries, have tried. Some of his female students included. Never buckled. Even got to hiding in the caretakers' shithole for a couple years. Oh god, imagine fucking him in there... Steamy."

"Um, you haven't explained the thing between Dr. Saxon and-," said Clara through gritted teeth.

"Forgive me. I detract. But to put it bluntly, they're fucking and everyone knows. I pity that Frenchman! She could sink him if she chooses."

"Now I'm sure Miss Oswald has plenty to do than mere chitchat, Cofelia."

"Very well. Ciao, ladies!" said Cofelia as she lifted off the chair.

"Thank you-," said Clara gratefully to Mrs. Hughes once Cofelia left the room.

"I noticed how sour she was making you feel. People like her always do. Put out other people's dirty laundry and expect you either to partake or take offence."

"I don't understand,” said Clara flustered. “Why’s there's always such an extreme to people? Who benefits from being soo… catty?”

“People do what they need to… makes them feel powerful,” noted Mrs. Hughes with a pause. She placed her tea cup on the table and sat down beside Clara, placing a hand over her, she asked gently, “My dear, Miss Oswald, tell me. How are you? All of this that you’re doing. It can’t be easy.”

Hearing the concern in Mrs. Hughes’ voice, Clara felt she could almost burst out weeping right there and then. Instead, Clara simply clicked her feet together and breathed deeply. “I’m alright. Honest. I think I’m ready to move on. From here, at least.”

“Of course, you do,” said Mrs. Hughes kindly, “You’ve done so well here. And it’s time for you do more, but perhaps someplace new….”

“Hellooo,” came Spooner’s heavy voice from the door. “I apologize for the interruption, but there’s been a development.”

“Would you like me to leave?” asked Clara.

“No, no. Of course not, Miss Oswald,” protested Spooner. “You are one of us now. And, it’s news for everyone….”

“Don’t just leave us hanging, man,” said Mrs. Hughes impatiently.

“Ah, well-,” said Spooner breathing heavily, “It’s, er… I’m to take over as the, um, department head.”

“And what of Dr. Saxon-,” wondered Clara, slightly puzzled.

“Dr. Saxon’s been granted her wish,” answered Spooner, “She’ll be taking over as the new associate dean posting.”

“Well, I’ll be,” whispered Mrs. Hughes. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I expect this is good news then.”

“How can that be good news-,” said Clara dejected.

“Put it _this_ way,” sat up Mrs. Hughes. “When it comes to someone like Dr. Saxon, you can’t really win. But, you can always hope that they’ll be out of your hair. And as a vice-dean, she’ll take charge of student affairs. Nothing to do with us. Essentially, she gets to be someone else’s problem.”

“ _Christ_ ,” thought Clara. “ _I just want her dead!_ ”

“I would like, if it’s not too inconvenient, Miss Oswald,” interrupted Spooner. “Would you please be willing to accompany me to my office?”

“Yes,” mumbled Clara. “I-, er, yes. See you later, Mrs. Hughes.”

“Keep your chin up,” nodded Mrs. Hughes.

****

“Oh-,” greeted Danny with a scathing frown. “Look who’s alive!”

“Hello. Excuse me,” groaned a weary-eyed Clara, pushing past Danny to enter her classroom. She dropped her bag on the desk and walked to the window. It was January; London was still wet and grey. And Clara was hating it all.

"So, how do we plan on doing this?" questioned Danny. "Am I supposed to guess what you're thinking now?!"

"How can I help you, Danny?" asked Clara unmoved. She was done with his shit.

"Perhaps you should start by explaining why you've been avoiding me the past couple days," started Danny. "It's been impossible to get a hold of you... I've tried your apartment, and your office at the university. It's a miracle you're even here!"

“So that’s how they _knew_ about, you,” sighed Clara.

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “Monday’s my last day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exeter.”

“What-?” said Danny bemused.

Tuning Danny out, Clara lazed her finger across the dewy window and traced a ‘J’. Warm-air flushed her lungs, as her mind wandered. She was thinking about how John had wrapped his arms around her and had pulled her head close to his chest. It was intimate; not wanting. Just giving. Loving. _Could John ever love her?_

"What the hell is wrong with you?" said Danny trying to grab Clara's arm, but she was too quick for him and dodged him. She moved to the front of the room and opened a folder. She stared at the papers before her.

"Are we playing hard to get now?"

"Stop. Right where you are," said Clara with cold-fury. "I do not appreciate being touched without permission."

"What is this?!" yelled Danny. "Do you think this some kind of game? After two weeks, we're finally in a room. Together. Do you understand? Two whole weeks... I just want us to talk."

"Danny Pink," said Clara soberly. "I am done talking. Ok?"

"Why are you being like this?"

"Why-?" smirked Clara. "It's because I can't stand my life here anymore. All of this. I am bored. I am bored as fuck. And I am done spending another wanking day surrounded by stuck-up teenagers and their maelstrom of shit."

"Clara-," cried Danny angrily.

"NO," shouted Clara. "No!"

"I see,” spat Danny. “So is this it? Nothing left to say?"

"I have nothing left to say."

“Well, I do,” breathed Danny. “Fuck you, Clara Oswald!”

"Good-bye, Danny Pink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long... I'm just so horrendously busy!!!


	29. Chapter 29

Waiting by the washer to complete the rinse cycle, John Smith stood by the sink and practiced breathing. He let the cool air drifting in from the window fill his lungs. His diaphragm moving upwards and downwards as he counted. While doing this, he often did well to keep his mind blank. Today, however, he was struggling. He could not remove his mind from its alerted state. Soon, he would have to face _Clara Oswald._

Simply said, John was flustered. He could not her terrified face off his mind. She had witnessed him in his most venerable, dilapidated state. He had never explained himself to her. And while it was true that she never bothered to ask, he knew there was no chance of hiding anymore. With this latest setback, she was bound to have more questions. He would either have to come clean, or remain quiet. What else could he do? How could he ever explain all the pain ripping through his core?

The doorbell rang. The sharp buzz sent John reeling into the present. Approaching the door, he stopped short of the threshold, and peeked through the peephole. Then, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Clara,” he said with a smile.

“Hello John!”

She was still as beautiful as the first time he had ever seen her. There was a slight smile on her lips and her cheeks were rosier than usual. Though his heart was beating a tad faster, John exercised calm. He was in control of himself, and felt extremely happy to see her. Even so, he was slightly unprepared for what Clara did next. She had lurched forward and threw her arms around his neck.

“I’m so glad to see you’re okay,” cried Clara.

“Me too,” squeaked John. Her head was pressing right against his and her hold around his shoulders was quite strong. He had ease her off gently before welcoming her into his apartment.

“New place?” asked Clara.

“Yes. We’re selling our house.”

“I see,” said Clara gravely.

“Please,” John waved her to the living room. “The kettle’s been on. I’ll get the tea out.”

Moving aside the cushion, Clara settled into the large sofa. The apartment had an aesthetically modern feel about it. There were dark wooded panels which made up the floors and the wall where the fireplace was. Adjacent to the fire-place, a huge French window opened out into the “quiet” London streets. A large bookcase bearing volumes of scripts, various trophies, and several trinkets. Before her, two large chairs poised on the sides of a lighted fire.  Above the mantle, lay a large figurative painting of child in the midst of a rose bush. Clara could not help herself. She felt drawn to the artwork. She noted the small inscription underneath it.

_And fare thee weel, my only luve!_

_And fare thee weel awhile!_

_And I will come again, my luve,_

_Though it were ten thousand mile._

"Burns," spoke John in a quiet voice. Startled, Clara turned to see John on the couch pouring the tea into her cup.

“You, scared me there-,” said Clara piqued. “Did you, um, paint that?”

“Ay, lass.”

“It’s beautiful, John,” she said with a pause. She noted something very Scottish about him in that moment. He had always sounded deep and thickly, but why did she feel things were different now. Perhaps, it was the beard which adorned his usually lean face.

"You seem more Scottish than I remember," pointed Clara.

"You do realize-,” smirked John, “I’d never notice.”

“True,” laughed Clara, settling back into the sofa. As John handed her the cup, Clara sensed the relatively strong grip he had over the saucer. It were, as if, he did not want her to drink the tea. It was only when their gaze met did he let go. Clara did not know if that moment meant something.

"Haw've you been?" asked John.

"You’re asking?”

“Yes, I suppose. I am human, aren’t I?”

“If you put it that way,” said Clara clearing her throat, “I've given up Danny."

"Really-?"

"You don't have to pretend to be so surprised," smirked Clara. “Never any love lost between you two."

"He wasn't right for Clara Oswald."

"Nothing's right for me. Or you, for that matter," ended Clara in an audible whisper.

With her last comment, John and Clara quieted. John desperately wanted to get up and run away as far as he could get away from that moment. If only he would book the next flight to Tibet and hide with some monks on a lonesome mountain, no one would ever bother him there. Clara, on her part, sat seething with the undrunk tea in her lap. Doing her best to keep her anger under grips, she removed the cup to the cocktail table and gave John a hard look. She was not going to let him off easy.

"Wha’ are ya lookin' at?"

"Why didn't you-,” she began with slight resentment in her voice, “Never mention you were still married?”

“It is a fair question,” thought John. He knew he could not hide from those piercing doe eyes. A part of him burned with desire for her, but he would never give into that. Clara Oswald was meant to flourish, not be tethered to the old and broken person of John Smith. He would not ruin her life. And though he felt he could not altogether hide his emotions from her, he would answer her as directly as he could.

"Because it was never relevant."

“Don’t you give me that-,” said Clara embittered, “Because, it is. You lied to me, John.”

“I never lied,” declared John with a hushed tone.

"You were drunk that night!"

"I was angry," said John with his eyes closed. "I wasn't thinking. I was angry because I didn’t want to be there. And River asked, I couldn’t say no.”

“So, you get mad drunk? To get back at her? All because she’s cast something on you that can’t break?”

“It’s not as simple.”

“Well, it must be simpler then-,” quietened Clara, “At least, it proves my theory.”

“What do you mean?”

“You still love her, John,” spoke Clara with a whisper. Her heart sank as those words slipped from her mouth. She watched as John opened his eyes to look down at the cup in his hands. He did not protest or hesitate, or make any attempts to deny her claim. He just sat still and mute. Holding back tears, Clara rubbed her knuckles. She reminded herself why she decided to come and see John that afternoon. While she knew there was some truth to the rumors, she chose not to accept any of it. But now, the maestro himself had communicated through his silence, the very worst of her fears. John loved River. Clara was not whom John loved. So, why was she still there listening to him breath.

“I have never been out of love for anyone, Clara.”

“I think I always knew that about you.”

“I love whomever I choose to love,” breathed John. “Just because they don’t feel it or know it, or are even here to receive it… Doesn’t lessen what’s there to give from inside of me.”

“You are…,” nodded Clara weakly, “A very special person to me.”

“And so are you. To me-,” said John facing Clara. He moved his hand and he placed it over hers for a second before he suddenly stood up. Tucking his hands into his trousers, he turned towards the painting and cocked his head to one side as to hide his face from her. He did his best to appear introspective. He would do anything to prevent Clara from noticing the tears which swelled his eyes. Though he was positively in-love with Clara, he also knew he was her greatest handicap.

After all, it was he who was responsible for the ten wasted years of marriage with River. Out of sheer guilt, he sought never to separate from her. Weirdly enough, this guilt, his guilt, was also the sole reason River never completely left him. At least, until a fortnight ago, when they finally admitted this to each other. Knowing what he was capable of and how weak he truly was, he would never wish to be a burden to Clara. But then, why did she insist on coming to see him?

“Exeter,” whispered Clara. “I’ve been made an offer.”

Hearing this, John froze. And then it hit him. She was here to say good-bye.

“That’s… That’s wonderful, Clara,” cried John as he spun around.

Clara just smiled. He was beaming at her. It had been so long since she had seen him so happy. She felt grateful to the gods for giving him something to smile about.

“You’re bright lass, Clara Oswald. And you’ll do well. You’ve always made me proud.”

“I wouldn’t have come this far without you.”

“Yes, yes, you would have,” nodded John. “You were born for this.”

“Ha-,” cried Clara. Her eyes were filled with tears. She used the back of her hand to wipe them. John noticed this and smiled tenderly. He watched her as she gathered her things and stood up. She simpered weakly as she approached John.

“Thank you,” she said with her hand stretched towards him.

“No,” said John taking her hand and kissing it. “Thank you, Clara Oswald.”


	30. Chapter 30

“It's been weeks, you, dingbat!”

“Shhh… Luce’s asleep,” said Jen. “And don't you fault me for being so god-damned busy, Miss-BAF-TA!”

“Oh, ha, ha. Shut up, you,” whispered Clara to her iPhone screen.

It had been approximately 1 year and 35 weeks since she had walked away from her life in London. And as a result, Clara Oswald’s career had taken off. Teaching and writing, Clara’s work was quickly gaining momentum across the British arts and entertainment sector. Several months into her teaching stint, she landed a commission from the BBC. Her debut screenplay was nominated for Outstanding New Talent in British Television Writing at the British Screenwriters Awards. Since then, her agent had been flooded with messages from several BBC/ITV/Channel4 producers. Clara was flattered by all the attention, but she knew for herself that she wanted to do more than writing for television. Her goal was to produce a piece worthy of a production in the the National Theatre. She was willing to do whatever was in the cards for her to usurp the likes of Abi Morgan and Julian Fellowes to become Britain’s most prominent screenwriter.

"Rigs says my soufflés are rubbish."

"It's not to be-," Clara retorted.

"What did you say-?!" interrupted a ferocious-looking Jen on the screen.

"I’m just kidding!"

"Goodness, gurl! I swear, I was just about to jump on the next flight over to Exeter and smash yer ‘ead into the wall! You're _always_ supposed to take my side of the argument!"

"Yes, yes. I am well aware of my duties and responsibilities,” cackled Clara.

How much she was thankful for Jen. Being where she was, far away from London, neck-deep in papers and publications, Clara relished the cool tones of her dearest friend in the universe. And given her goals in life, Clara would work days on end, often without much sleep. There was no time for a social life. There was no time for anything really. She would manage, on occasion, to Skype the Riggins’, but those moments were vapid compared to the days she would spend waltzing with Jen around the coffee table.

"By the way, you won't guess who I, or rather Luce, ran right up to at the park..."

"What-?" laughed Clara nervously. She froze in the moment. Afraid of what Jen was about to say next.

"Can you guess? Tch, not worth it… It was Danny!"

"Danny?!"

Danny, Danny Pink. Were they really sleeping together over a year ago? Why does he seem like a distant memory? It was all beginning to come back. Everything had happened. All at once. She had just graduated and been offered the professorship at Exeter. In doing so, she had amicably quit her job and Danny Pink. She even said a fond and affectionate farewell to her mentor. The one man she had, in the past, regarded the bane of her existence, the talented and elusive John Basil Smith.

"Whoopsie. Never bump into yer gal's ex-. God, was it awkward! Kept asking how you were and whether you were managing okay."

Clara turned the phone slightly away to hide her face and bob her head against the kitchen counter. Sounds like Danny’s still the dick she remembered him to be.

“Did he really ask if I was, in quotations, “managing okay”? The weak-ass fuckboy still think I need him?”

"Oi-", yelled Jen. "I'm not skyping you to get a close-up of your counter... Your granite is a nice finish though.”

“Whoops, sorry,” said Clara, whipping the phone back in front of her face. "This place is a rental, by the way."

"Ahh, there's your sweet face. Was worried you'd passed out for a moment."

"Shut up-," snorted Clara.

"He seemed very sorry to let you go."

"Hey! Let's be fair here. The man was a dick. Remember how we tried to get him to call me back after the classroom incident? HE was the one that walked away."

"I hear ya. Pinko Danno sa proud man. He couldn't keep boinkin' a woman who wanted to better then where he was in life. Also, you had properly shamed him now, didn’t you?

"Shame him?"

"Come on, Clara-," said Jen. "I've said this many, many times before. All those hours you'd spend with J.B.. I mean, Christ, Danny's mates pretty much believed you were shaggin' the codger."

"Ah, well, fuck 'em!"

"Fuck 'em, indeed! They have no shittin' clue our lovely-slash-beautiful Clara."

"Thank you! I'm quite flattered," smirked Clara, as she hoisted herself unto the counter.

“Speaking of which. You hear about J.B.’s new play? It’s being produced at the Old Vic. Rumor has it they want Sam Mendes directing and they’re trying to lure Ewan McGregor to play the lead…”

“Yea, I heard rumors there something from a colleague,” said Clara. “How do you know so much about it?”

“Well, I can’t say _exactly_ how,” said Jen, “Riggs is leading a counseling session that has someone who is involved with the project. He said something and that’s how we know.”

“Hm-,” murmured Clara.

“I thought you’d know more since J.B. mighta said something to you.”

“Jen-,” said Clara slowly, “I have not talked to him since I left. And neither do I intend to be.”

"Are you telling me that he didn't even call to say congratulations when you got that BAFTA?"

"Yes!"

“OK... Well, now you have good reason to say something to him.”

“I am not going to,” said Clara wearily. It was well-past midnight when they had begun their conference call. “Jen, why do you always have to bring up John?”

Clara felt a tingle across her neck as she recalled the piercing green eyes, which were forever etched in her memory. She remembered how she adored those eyes once. She had planned to tell him how she felt about him. However, when she sought to do so, from on his sofa, he would not even meet her gaze. In fact, he had inequitably confessed love for his wife. With that confession, Clara Oswald relinquished the man she had loved immensely.

“Because I still don't understand what happened between you two, Clara,” whispered Jen. “Breaking up with Danny, I understand. But, that one night when you came over from J.B.'s place, you were inconsolable. And you never said a word about it."

"It's complicated," sighed Clara. She moved to her couch in the living room. "Look, Jen, that night I went to him to talk about things. But he, and I can't blame him and I'm not angry anymore, he was just not ready to fix things. And I want to respect that. I am happy where I am and I am thanks to him I have gotten this far. I'm on my own two feet now, professionally, I really don't need anything from him.”

"You really expect to me to buy that bull-...."

"Jen, please. Try and understand. I am happy with things exactly the way it is! It's just...."

“Just, what-?"

“I miss home-,” said Clara her voice caught. “I’m here. I’ve got my job, and it’s all very important. But….”

“But-?”

“I’m far away from you, Riggs, Lucy, my dad,” sniffled Clara. “And I want my family close. I just can't right now and it's all very stupid.”

“Clara-,” said Jen softness in her voice, “Forgive me. I knew something was bothering you, but I’m just stupid to realize exactly what it was."

"I know, I know," cried Clara. "I was just focused on getting here. I didn't tell you everything. I still can't say somethings. I need more time, but I don't know if I can be out here and do this shit anymore."

"Clara, Clara, please. Just let me say this to you. You are _exactly_ where you need to be, darling. And, you CAN do this because I KNOW that you can. I have seen you. You truly are smart, witty, and talented. And above all this, you work extremely hard. And what I have seen you accomplish these past few years, despite everything that has happened to you in your past with your mum, with Danny, and J.B... You are the truest, rarest, brightest shining ray of hope in the lives of people who know you.”

" Jen-, I-....”

"Clara, you might be a little far way. But we are with you. All of us. Please don’t you ever forget that.”

“Jen-,” sobbed Clara, “I love you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10-3-2016 update: I apologize profusely for so recklessly taking my time. I am a graduate student so it takes up huge chunks of my life. Please forgive me for not caring about you all, the-faithful-and-entertained-fanfic-readers! I am resolved to finish this story and finish it well. So, I cannot promise that there won't be another dry season between chapters. Please just bear with me. I will do everything to finish this by Christmas. Thank you for your messages! Some of you were very touched by the mental health issues addressed in this story. Reality is that when I first started, I did not foresee the story taking such a turn. I appreciate that you are curious, entertained, and hopeful for John and Clara. Let's see what their future holds, if there is any. Take care, DW fandom! ~Tess


	31. Chapter 31

“Before we end our time, can anyone explain why I’ve left the final week of this course for a discussion on Chekhov’s ‘The Cherry Orchard’?”  
   
“It’s quite apparent, Miss Oswald,” called out a student. “You mean to pop our cherries before we're through this course!”  
   
“Ha! That’s quite cheeky, Russell. But I’d like to hear a more cognizant opinion from the audience. Why would we, as screenwriters, benefit from talking about this play?"  
   
"Does it have to do with the, -er, partnership between Chekhov and Stanislavski?"  
   
"Getting close, Steven. Need to elaborate that a little more. In the context of the Stanislavski-Chekhov relationship, why is this play so important?"  
   
"Because as the director, Stanislavski had a different interpretation of the play than what Chekhov originally meant as he had written it originally."  
   
"Yes, precisely. Often, as a screenwriter, you'll face the challenge of trying to direct, without bossing, the key people involved in the production of your piece. Using this play, we'll analyse the key points where Chekhov and Stanislavski differed greatly, but still managed to deliver this masterpiece. Questions? None? Right. Please note, Miss Williams will take charge over the lecture material for the over the next two days. Emails and concerns must be directed to her as I shall not be available. Dismissed.”  
   
As the lecture hall awoke from its slumber and people stood up from their seats or made a grab for their book bags, a loud voice sang from the very back of the lecture room.   
   
“Oh-Pro-fes-sor-Os-wald,” cried Russell. He was sporting a wide-eyed look with lope-sided smile. Everyone paused with confusion and looked back at him.  
   
“Yes, er, Russell?” said Clara. She was not sure why he had forced everyone’s attention his way when she had already dismissed the class.  
   
“Professor Oswald. As you know, I’m the editor of the Exeter Chronicle.”  
   
“Yes, Russell. I did nominate you.”  
   
“Well,” continued Russell. “I was just wondering if you were willing to comment on J.B. Smith’s new play. It’s the one playing at the Old Vic for the past 6 weeks.”  
   
“Ah, well, I actually have nothing to say. You see, I haven’t really had the chance to see it. Was stuck trying to move some of you from cocksure ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty,” said Clara with a smile. A few in the audience sniggered at her retort.  
   
“Hmm…,” said Russell. “If that’s the case, ma’am, I wonder if you were aware of the central plot of the play. It is about a bold young woman, in her late twenties, tormented by her dead mother’s spirit. She falls in love with a man twice her age. He’s her teacher. And they both fall for each other. Except, one night, he goes raving mad and ends up in hospital. Soon after, he kicks her out of his life and commits suicide seconds after she walks out the door.”  
   
“Hmm, I don’t think I understand the relevance?” said Clara biting her lower lip.  
   
“Do you know how true this story is? It’s long been speculated that J.B. Smith often finds inspiration from real life. I was just inquiring if you knew the source of this inspired work.”  
   
“I don’t. Russell. I think you’ll need to ask J.B. Smith about that sometime," replied Clara ferociously. "Dismissed!"  
   
* * *  
   
Walking back to her office, Clara fumbled through her phone keeping track of all her appointments. She was distracted and irritated. She never really had expected this from Russell. More so, she couldn’t believe John had used their story as source material.   
   
“Men are fucking piss-pots,” thought Clara. "How could he do that to her? Especially adding that bit about falling for each other. Fucking embellishment."

Furiously, she threw her pen to the floor. It rolled a few yards, leaning almost halfway over the edge, on the top most stair before she grabbed it. She couldn't help but reminisce about all they did together. Drink a cuppa, eat sushi, try to bring down Missy. If there never was any fucking, how could they have fallen for each other?

"I mean, isn't that what all the dating advice books are all about? Sex is chemistry, right? Except, that rule never really applied to Danny. Or Gordon. Or Alex. How many men did I fuck exactly? When was sex such ancient history to her?" Clara pressed the pen against her temple. "Jesus, I did win a fucking BAFTA, didn't I?!"

"You did," said a gentle voice from below her.

"What?"

Clara half-turned her head to face the voice. Then, she immediately wished she hadn't.

"How are ye, lass?"

"I'm-m fine. I'm-m," said Clara. "Jesus Christ, John. I-I.. It's been awhile since we.. You, um." Stopping herself, she turned her head in the opposite direction and took a deep breath. Regaining her composure, she said, "I can't believe you're standing here. How are you?"

At the bottom of the stairs, John stood leaning against the rail. His hair was longer than Clara remembered. He had a pair of sunnies tucked in the grey curls on his head. His face was lean, clean shaven. He wore a crisp white shirt under  a navy jacket, a pair of jeans, and black boots. If it weren't for his eyes and gravelly voice, Clara wouldn't have recognized him.

"I'm well," said John smiling, teeth bare.

Clara climbed down delicately, placing one foot behind the other, doing everything to maintain her balance and not look foolish. She didn't want to embarrass herself. Halfway down, John approached her and took her arm. He awkwardly pulled a halfhearted Clara into an embrace.

"Congrats on your first victory, Clara," he whispered softly. Kissing the side of her head. He grabbed her heavy bag and lent his arm to her for support, as they descended the remaining steps together.

"T-thank you, J-john," said Clara. Why was she stammering? Clara never stammered. Was she in shock? Her heart was pounding rapidly inside her chest. Clara was now close enough to smell his breath and his clothes. There were no awkward flashback, no memories of the days she suspected he had been drinking or smoking. He smelled like nothing.

"Should get a good whiff just to confirm-, thought Clara. Her thoughts were interrupted by John's voice.

"I was on my way to meet a friend in Port Isaac. Felt I should drop by and see how Yer getting on. Especially since BAFTA."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm, I'm good. Been really good, actually. Um, and you, I hear. Your play! At the Old, um, Vic-?"

"Oh, you've seen it?"

"Um. Yes, of course, I have," lied Clara. "How could I miss anything you've penned after all these years? It was, um, good."

"You know, I was on the BAFTA screenwriting selection committee," said John changing the subject of conversation. He eyes were averted from the dropped smile Clara was now sporting. "You were an obvious win in that category, and it showed when you won most of the votes."

"Righ-t," said Clara unevenly. They were at the bottom of the stairwell now. The gap between their torsos expanded as John handed Clara her bag.

"Plans for tonight?"

"None. Packing. Catching a 5 A.M. to London."

"Eat dinner with me," said John. His eyes lit with intensity as he faced her. His cool composure was being betrayed by his fiery gaze. Clara saw this.

"Y-yes, I can. But-."

John interrupted. "What's good place here?"

"Clearly, old habits die hard," thought Clara. Aloud, she said, "There's a pub. Good fish and chips. Smashing beer. It's called 'The Five Bells.' Seven blocks round the corner from that door."

"Right. Meet me there at 7:30?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." And with a few long strides, John disappeared from sight.

"Ciao," muttered Clara under her breath. "What the fuck have I done? I have nothing decent to wear!"


	32. Chapter 32

"Oh god, oh god. Why is this man back in my life?"

She was standing outside the pub. It was still bright outside. Your typical summer breeze  weaving through her open hair. She remembered how John complimented her once, and only the one time when he wasn't under the influence, about her hair. She was worried about meeting him in the pub. She was worried to walk in and find him half drunk and swaying over a bottle of a single malt. She will take time to write a poem about John and his malt when she's got spare time. Drawing a quick breath, she walks inside.

She finds John sitting back on the patio with his hands folded over his belly. He was smiling as if enjoying the freshest air only River Exe could offer.

Clara was surprised to find him this way. She noted the scant white bristles which had now appeared on his jawline. His hair seemed a tad rougher than the morning, which attributed a certain sexiness of its own. Without much fuss, Clara slipped into the seat across from him. John turned and smiled at her.

"You look beautiful, Clara."

"That's a first," said Clara. She couldn't help her sneaking suspicions he was probably intoxicated somehow. She decided to confront him. "Is there a bottle somewhere?"

"No," he replied.

Clara felt a shiver. John was looking right at her, in some ways, right through her. "Well, thanks then," she said.

The two sat quietly for a few still moments. In the background, friends and coworkers gathered around the bar. Pints were handed out. Food was being passed around. The noise from the guitar of an Ed Sheeran wannabe sounded louder with every proceeding chord, but neither John or Clara were listening to any of it. They just sat and looked at the river, the tourists, the boats, the birds, the children eating ice cream. Anything. Everything. Except each other.

"I'm sorry, Clara," said John suddenly. "I lied. I didn't come to meet a friend. I came here to see you."

"O?-," said Clara. She knew John had lied about his "friend" in Port Isaac. In all the time she had spent doing secretarial work for him, she had never known him to have friends. Clara always believed that she was his friend. His only true friend. She wanted to know desperately why he had come. The only reason she chose to come was because curiosity got the most of her. Clara desperately wanted to solve the mystery of Mr. J.B. Smith. She didn't care what it took him to approach her now. 'Now' being 'the two years since the incident at the ball when John's panic attack put him in ambulance en route to the hospital'. She had thrown herself to him and he pushed her aside. She was young then. Now, she would never just let any tosser into her heart.

"Clara, I treated you badly in the past. I'm sorry."

"At least he has the balls to apologize," thought Clara.

"I know we left things.. A bit unfinished.", John continued. "I just wanted you to know that I'm still here. Still available."

Clara scowled. "Available -?"

"I'm here, Clara!" exasperated John.

"I can see-," quipped Clara. "And I can hear."

"Clara, give me a chance."

"John-," laughed Clara. "I'm here. This is your second chance. We can talk about whatever you like."

"Christ-," swore John. "Don't make me beg...."

"I'm sorry, John!" cried Clara. "I don't understand you... What is it, you want?"

"I WANT YOU!"

The live music in the background stopped suddenly. Friends, coworkers, the waiters, paused their activity and glanced briefly towards the red-faced couple on the patio. Moments later, everyone resumed their activity. John had stood up and walked to the rail of the patio. His gaze concentrated on the river. Clara remained in her seat and sipped the glass of water before her. She was livid. She continued in this state, till John returned to his seat and was facing her again. She could see his puffy red eyes, but it did not soften her.

"Clara Oswald," said John above a whisper. "I love you."

With those words, a slight tear fell from her right eye. She grabbed a napkin from the table and dabbed it dry. Through her anger, she summed up all the strength to hold back tears of any sort.

"I'm sorry, John. I did everything when I waited for you then, but I most certainly do not care now. You decided to play the long game. Now, all my love for you has dried up."

"Clara-," said John.

"You used me, John. You used our story to  help you bring meaning to your work. You used details and lies to embellish your fiction. To give the masses, a story so endearing, so meaningful. It has brought glory and satisfaction to no one, except you.

"That's hardly a fai-," started John.

"No. It might not be fair but don't you see how I don't care. Life isn't fair, John Basil Smith. Grow up and face it, or get out."

With this, Clara stormed away. Tears dreaming down her face, she squeezed through the crowds as quickly as she could manage. Just then, she wanted do desperately to be home with her dad. The last thing she ever wanted to give a fuck about was John Basil Smith. Distracted and blinded by tears, Clara set off to cross the road. Little did she know, how soon her life was going to shit.


	33. Chapter 33

Dave Oswald jerked his watch to look at the time. It seven hours had past since his arrival to hospital. Looking around the almost empty waiting room, he saw his wife sitting on and reading _Return of the Native_ by Thomas Hardy. Sensing his probing eyes, she looked up from her book and flashed a smile at him. Feebly, Dave returned a smile. He then turned his attentions to the other end of the room where he saw Clara's friend with her head leaned against the shoulder of a tall, older gentleman. He tried to recall her name. It might have sounded like Janet or Janelle.

Whatever her name was, he was too embarrassed to approach her without remembering her name, especially since she too had been waiting there for hours as well. He did remember the name of the older man, John Smith. Apparently, he was Clara's tutor at St. Andrews in London. Though it was the hospital that had called Dave about the accident, it was John Smith who tried to explain everything to them. Dave didn't quite get the preface of why John happened to be in Cornwall. He could hardly process any details from 6-7 hours ago. He was at work when the call came. He called home, picked up his wife who had packed the clothes, and the next minute they were en route to Truro. Despite not being religious, he prayed quietly the entire way on the train. Arriving at the hospital, they were led to the waiting room where they found a disheveled John with his head buried in his hands. John told them what had happened. They were at a restaurant. Then Clara left. John followed but Clara was already crossing the street, where she was struck by car that had disappeared immediately afterwards. Barely glimpsing the license plate, John called in the ambulance. Once at A&E, he gave a full statement to the police. Then John phoned Janet. Janet left several voicemails on Dave's phone before deciding to travel to Turro. Dave noted the sign of relief on her face when she arrived two hours after them. Initially, she appeared calm and had greeted the Oswald with comforting words. It lasted only a few brief minutes before she had singled out John from the group of people behind them. Then the tears came and flowed freely as Janet found herself being held in John's still arms.

Thinking back,  Dave was perplexed. He could not understand how John and Janet knew each other. Perhaps, he was her mentor too. Were tutors usually this invested in their students, or was there more to the story? Dave had never been to university. He didn't know what tutors were like in real life. He did think it strange that someone like John Smith should be waiting hours and hours for a mere student to regain consciousness. Not to mention, the state John was in when Dave  first saw him from across the room. The man's shirt was half-bloodied, his hair and shoes were scuffed, and his face bore the marks of despair. Perhaps he cares because he is a real Good Samaritan. Whatever the reasons, Dave was grateful Clara was with a friend when the accident occurred. At least, John was able to get Clara the help she needed.

Walking to the side of the room with the water cooler, Dave felt grief rising up in his heart. He thought of his first wife, Ellie. Her life had been cut short by a traffic accident. When he first got the call about Clara, he had assumed the worst fate for his daughter. He felt calm in that moment. Calm, until Dr. Jones told him about the injuries Clara had sustained. In particular, the concussion she had sustained which put her into a half coma. Now, the medics were trying to keep her brain resting until the swelling had decreased enough for them to wake her up.

Dave returned to his seat. He tried to recall the last conversation he'd had with his only child. He realized how little Clara told him about her own life. He knew how hard she worked, especially when she got the commission to write her script. She had won several awards for it. _Of course, she had_.

"She's always been my clever girl,"  thought Dave.

Suddenly, Dave felt guilt tugging his heart.  He shuddered in his seat. His wife noticed the change in his face and moved over to him.

"I'm fine," he mumbled.  
"It's okay, Dave," she said as she rubbed his back.

Dave heaved a sigh. He was tired. All he wanted was to take Clara home. He needed to take her home and protect her. Protect from all the misery her young life had encountered.

"Mr. Oswald?"

  
"Yes," responded Dave wearily. A young woman in a white coat was standing in front of him. It was Dr. Jones.

"Mr. Oswald, we have been monitoring Clara's situation. We are going to attempt to wake her. If you'd like to be there when she come too— to greet her?"

"Yes, I would!"

"Okay. Would you like to follow me now?" said Dr. Jones. She turned and Dave got up from his seat.

"Is she awake—?" called Janet.

"Not quite," said Dr. Jones. "We are about to induce her, but I'm afraid only one of you is allowed inside the ward. And since Mr. Oswald is her next of kin."

"Yes. Of course," said Janet weakly.

"Not to worry, Janet," started Dave. "I'll let Clara know that you and John are out here."

"Um, yeah. Um, it's Jen, Mr. Oswald. My name is Jen."

"I'm so sorry. I was, er—," said Dave. He felt a tad embarrassed.

"Don't fret. I've been called worse," said Jen with a disguised laugh.

"Right. I'll tell her you're here."

"Dave—," said John. He handed him the ring which Dave had given Ellie when he proposed.

"Give this to her. I picked it up from the road had. I know it once belonged to her mother."

"How did you know?" asked Dave.

"She mentioned it. Once."

"Thank you," said Dave.


	34. Chapter 34

She could hear the music from an ice cream van.

She wanted to control the urge to leave her kitchen but she was hungry and the cupboards were bare. Pulling on her coat she launched down the stairs and straight into John. They started to argue. He was pinning her against the wall but she was able to push him aside. She ran to the edge of the curb. The melody tingled her body. She drew closer to the sounds until she stood in the middle if the street. Suddenly, the music stopped and she turned to face an oncoming car crashing into her.

Clara woke up, gasping. The involuntary jerk of the neck, which can occur after waking from a sudden fright was impossible for her, owing to the brace that had been clamped around her neck. Scared and confused, the reality of her condition began to clear the hazy thoughts of a now distant nightmare. Nightmare. How could her brain believe that to be a nightmare when the true nightmare was the what she had to live through every waking moment in rehab.

Frustrated and wanting to move, she felt for the button near her fingers and pushed it. Even her shoulders had to be put in a brace so it had time to heal. However, this meant someone had to help her up and adjust the pillows so she could be comfortable. Her mood quickly soured as impatience began to settle in and she pushed the button again. Her right leg was also immobilized in a brace. She could feel the stitches in her thigh and hip. She wanted to sit up and she wanted medication. A nurse's aide appeared at the door and made her way to Clara's bedside. Clara wanted to use the toilet. The aide helped her up. Clara groaned as the stitches near her stomach also cut into her. She wanted food despite her stomach being irritated from the pain meds she took every 6-7 hours. The aide promised to talk to the doctor but Clara would have to settle for a yogurt parfait. Clara didn't want a parfait but she didn't argue with the aide. At least she was being fed.

And so it went, every morning for the past three weeks in the hospital. By midday, she would be wheeled into rehab to endure a newer level suffering and perseverance compared to the previous day. Then she would be taken to her room for lunch and a kip. Then a few hours of sunshine outdoors, a chance to browse through emails, or writing, or anything that kept her spirits up. Sometimes, when the pain was too much, she'd stay indoors and watch Downtown Abbey or Friends. She usually did this anyway after dinner because she had grown weary of all the medical banter she'd hear from outside her door. Despite what hospital regulations stated about patient confidentiality, Clara could hear everything about Mr. So-and-so in room 265 and his condition. She was thankful that she was boring enough and improving enough not to be the subject of discussion with the staff. Regardless, Clara wanted to leave as soon as she could to return to work. It was all she wanted now. She knew the university would give her ample time to recover, but she wanted her life to mean something. Sitting in a hospital bed usually didn't amount to much meaning for her. Her phone buzzed and she checked her messages. Jen was coming down for the weekend. Clara's felt the edges of her mouth curve up slightly. She was feeling quite desperate for a friend.

* * *

"Oh god, I see what you meant by the hair. Oh, my darling girl is gorgeous," cried Clara.

"Oi, she's mine," teased Jen.

"Well, I'm the godmother. She'll be coming to me with all her boy troubles. You'll see."

The girls muffled their laughter. Despite the dreariness of the ward, sunlight had broken in through the window and leaving a yellowish glow on the white-washed walls. Since Clara's bed was located closest to the window, she could feel the warmth of the sun across the stitches over her skin. She had been operated on thrice since the accident. The first was to patch her up well-enough to reduce any swelling from the impact of the car on her hips. The other two involved cosmetic procedures to restructure the shattered bones above her right eye. Between these procedures, Clara was in full-time rehab to recover the use of her legs. Every so often, she received weekend visitations from Jen and she was very grateful for it.

"My darling gyal," said Jen. Pulling back Clara's hair, she brushed it before rubbing some oil into her scalp. Clara's hair had grown longer and a bit frayed at the ends.

"I need a hair-cut."

"I won't lie. You need a cut."

"Book us an appointment then. Two-for-two at Suzanna's."

"Haha. Suzanna would not know what to do with a white girl's hair."

"Hey!"

"Just joking," said Jen. She had started to braid a stitch across a small section of Clara's head. "You should think about coming home sometime soon, Clara. You know how much we all miss you." Clara knew exactly what Jen meant by the term "we".

"How is he?"

"He wanted me to get you to change your mind."

"You know I'm not going to do that, right?"

"You can't be fighting this on your own, gyal. It is fool like. He is your father and you need him. Please come home so we all can take of you."

They were quiet for several moments. Clara sat patiently as Jen continued to tug against her hair. Part of her was aware Jen could never fully accept her decision. Clara knew Jen was angry, but she held back from lashing out because Clara was in pain most of the time. She tried once more to reason with her.

"I don't want to weigh him down, Jen. I want him to live his life. He's already been through enough."

"Clara," said Jen sternly.

"Jen, please. Listen. You don't know. You don't know what caring for mum did to him. The only reason...." Her voice caught. "He did everything for her. The only reason Dad let Mum come home was because she told him she was dying. She wanted to die at home. It took her two weeks to die, Jen. And dad, he was never the same."

Jen paused from braiding Clara's hair and hugged her from behind. She kissed Clara's cheek and said softly, "Clara, you are not dying. You're just a little broken, my darling. You must continue to fight this. As for your father, he just wants you to be safe."

"I am safe," insisted Clara.

"Okay. Then I will tell him that."

"Thank you. I know you don't understand, but I need this."

* * *

Home. Clara couldn't describe what that meant to her anymore. No; she was not interested in returning to London. All she wanted now was to be able to get back to work. It's all she wanted. Work is the best medicine after all. She had mostly recovered from her injuries. But her body bore the marks. The seven stitches that ran across the bottom of her left eye had now left a crusty scar. She could sense the screw that was used to pin her arm into her shoulder, turning. She imagined it creaking. Like the Tin Man from 'The Wizard of Oz'. She had always had the fondest memories of the Tin Man. Her mum would often act out the role of the characters as she read to her. The Time Man was her favorite because her mum would often pull funny faces. The most memorable one was the "constipated" Tin Man. "Constipated" because Mum often said that was the face Dad had when he had trouble in the loo. Clara laughed to herself.

"If only Mum were here to see this."

Jen and Lucy had come down and helped set up the dusty apartment for her. They'd cleaned it up and had movers to clear out extraneous furniture for Clara to move about in a wheelchair. She obviously wasn't going to settle for a wheelchair. She was going to do everything to get back on her two feet.

"I wish you'd change your mind, gyal."

"I need this," repeated Clara. "I need to do this."

"OK," breathed Jen. "Just, be careful."

"Promise," said Clara.

The taxi pulled away with Clara's two favorite people in the whole world. She was left alone. Again.

 

 


	35. Chapter 35

It was another week before HR allowed Clara to return to work. She was greeted by Ashildr who had continued to work out of Clara's office.

"It is so good to see you back, ma'am!"

"Yes, thank you," said Clara. She was hobbling with her crutches over to her chair. There were stacks of papers everywhere. The trash was overflowing and the coffee maker looked like someone had taken a shit in it. Needless to say, Clara could not complain. She was back and it was time to get rolling.

"Sorry, ma'am," said Ashildr pulling away stacks of pages to make room for Clara. "The department had all the post-grads work out of your office for a while. They were short on rooms, you see. I did move your personal items to that drawer so nobody could pry."

"Don't worry about it, Ashildr," sighed Clara. She was already exhausted from using the crutches on the stairs rather than using the elevator. Beads of sweat had broken out all over her face.

"Would like a cup of cold water, ma'am?"

"Yes, but please get me the stack with the end of term papers."

"Yes. Of course, here they are. And take care of the extraneous stacks of paper please."

"Yes, Clara, ma'am."

"Hi, there-," interrupted a man jumping in at the door. He spoke fast and like an American. "I see that you have returned. Glad to see you are alive and well and would like your space, Miss Clara Oswald. May I call you Clara? I am Jack Harkness." He thrust his hand in her direction. Clara took it, cordially, but she was not quite in the mood for more chit chat. "My stack of papers, Ashildr."

"My stack of papers, Ashildr."

"Huh, what?"

"Ashildr," said Clara impatiently.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Here they are."

"That's my stack actually," said Jack.

"Ohh," said Ashildr gently. "I was mixed up there. My name is Ashildr, by the way."

"Oh god," thought Clara. "My only student and she falls for the American on day one! Fuck me."

"Thank you, Ashildr," said Jack with a set of charming white teeth. "You should know there is a party hosted by the post-grads in the kitchen tonight. You ladies should join us. There's a rumor going around that one can only expect the best of the best alcohol available this side of England."

"We'd love to be there," cried Ashildr instantaneously.

"Ashildr-," muttered Clara under her breath. "We have things to do."

"Oh, well, you know," said Jack. "Whenever you need a break. I can always swing by with a bottle later."

"Yes. Whatever," said Clara.

"OK. Settled. I guess I'll be seeing you two around. Do knock on my door if you need anything. I'm right down that hall. I would be more than happy to assist."

"Yes, yes," said Clara with a fake smile. "Nice meeting you and goodbye."

"Oh, you have a new office?" asked Ashildr following Jack out the door.

"Jesus," swore Clara with the door closing behind them. "No wonder why John did everything to isolate himself. Fuck me. I'm going to find my own cupboard to hide from Captain Charming down the hall." Clara slumped back into her chair. Why was it that some people were so fucking draining?

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Ashildr. I can hear you moping from here. You ought to keep it to yourself."

"Ma'am, with respect, you've locked us in here for the last fourteen hours."

"I can't help it. Captain Pearly Whites is literally absconding with any poor fucker who is trying to get work done. We have no time for booze."

"Ma'am, we've completed every assessment forty-five minutes ago. Can we not at least celebrate everything we've in this impossible amount of time?"

"No, because we still have to check this against every portfolio project turned in."

"Ma'am, no professor actually does that," protested Ashildr. "Everyone know it's a formality."

"It is not a formality for me."

"Ma'am," cried Ashildr. "If you ask me, you're being a bit too harsh on your students. They've done really well. Especially well, given your-." Ashildr stopped herself. She didn't want to go there.

"Given MY what, Ashildr? MY infirmities? MY disability? MY incompetence?"

"No, ma'am. That is not what I was getting at."

"Why don't you just continue to be brutally honest with me for a change?" said Clara. "You might think to sit there and pontificate on how I treat my students. But at the end of the day, they are my students. I set the bar. I judge. I expect from each of my students: blood, tears, and sacrifice. I didn't get here overnight, Ashildr. It took me years. It took me this," she pointed to the scar on her face. "Every fucking thing I did to get here. It's who I am, Ashildr. And I will not lose this fight."

Clara slammed her stack of papers on her table. She turned her attention to the computer and began typing furiously. She didn't hear Ashildr leave.

* * *

Finally, she was back on top. Working at a furious pace, Clara could finally get to work on her own papers for the tenure-tracked review. Within a couple weeks, she would have to provide evidence of progress, statements supporting her work ethic and outlining her success, endorsement from colleagues and fellows in the program. It had been like war for her to come this far. She'd had to put up with so much office politics in the past few days that she felt even more exhausted than what was usual.

"Clara, Ma'am, I can type up those notes for you. I think you should take a break."

"Nonsense, Ashildr. There is no rest for the wicked."

"Ma'am, you need to eat. You've done enough and we are just waiting for the endorsements. You've already outlined and rewritten your draft proposals. I can do the corrections. I am better at it anyway."

"Yes, Ashildr. You are the best copy editor I have ever met. But don't you think if we both worked at this, we could be done faster."

"No, ma'am. I don't. I can think you are more prone to slow down the process by not looking after yourself. There is a chip shop down the road. You should take an hour. Eat. Drink."

Clara blew into her cheeks. "You are growing to be wise beyond your years, Ashildr. I will take your advice."

"Thank you, ma'am!"

"Also, I'm sorry."

"About what, ma'am."

"I was wrong to be angry and scold you like you are a child. You were obviously right, and I was right too. We just couldn't see eye to eye, and I don't want you to think I don't value you. In fact, I value you immensely."

Ashildr smiled. "Thank you, ma'am."

"I promise to bring back a bottle of wine," shouted Clara as she made her way out the door. 

* * *

"Fuck me, the world is beautiful," said Clara to herself. Of course, it was all beautiful. She was finally back to her old self. A bit broken and bruised, but no one cared about that. It was her work they cared about and that was all she cared about. She looked around the shops that were located along the river. She observed a group of sixteen-year-olds outside the chip shop. The boys looked rugged and wore shorts and sunglasses. The girls wore flowy dresses which stopped mid-way at the thigh. They were eating, drinking, celebrating life. But something had turned inside of Clara. Gloom hit her in the chest. She felt almost breathless and limped over to the chair outside. She sat down quickly. A bit unsteadily, but no one noticed. She stared at the group of young people. Envy began to build up inside her as she noted the flawless skin and shapely bodies of the women. Sunlight appeared to reflect off their mid-riffs. Clara felt the staples in her thigh burn. Her shoulder felt worse than it normally did. Doubled up in pain. She called the waiter for two pints of beer. Though she had lost her appetite, she felt thirst ravaging against her insides. Cool ale to help lower the heat building up inside of her. When it arrived, she downed the first one ferociously. She threw back her head and smiled to herself. She didn't care what people saw when they looked at her. She was fucking ugly and she hated everybody. 

Clara mischievously eyed the most devilishly handsome boy in front of her. She watched as he kept sliding his hands between one of the brunette's legs. He was caressing her as if they were about to fuck right then and there. The thought made Clara's cunt tingle. She wanted to be touched herself. If she were in a private space, she wouldn't hesitate to touch herself. She obviously couldn't manage to get away with that in public. So, she just watched as the young lovers began to make out. The girl had stuck her tongue in so deep, Clara could see its outline in the boy's mouth. She slumped back slightly in her change as she fondled the second glass of beer, when she looked behind the couple and saw a familiar face standing across the road and watching her.

It was John.

He stood there motionless. And she realizes she can't ignore him because he had seen her watching him as well. Their eyes met and the entire world grew void. He crossed the road and made his way to her. He stopped three feet away from her. Neither daring to speak, but they continued to stare at each other. Then John sat down across from her. She could see the remorse and hurt in his gentle green-blue eyes. They were filled with love. Despite this, Clara's eyes swelled with fury and pain. Hot tears rolled down here cheek and burned every small and large wound. She knew she looked the Devil. She knew she wanted to hurt him. But she couldn't move toward action. Quietly, without showing more of herself, she sucked her beer dry of its container. She licked her lips and saved the last bit of the beer in her mouth. She made a noise as she slammed her hands down on the table and climbed over, her face inches away from John's face. John sat, unshaken. Smiling viciously, Clara swallowed the beer. She felt it burn her throat. But it made her numb to him. He had no power over her. She transferred her gaze off John and towards the young couple who sat behind. Their shocked expressions told Clara that people in the shop were trying to process the scene before them. She smiled to herself and pulled away from John who had turned his head away from her. Obviously, being sober for the past months had made him sensitive to the stench of alcohol. That's why recovering alcoholics could never live in the same house as the bottle itself. Smells have a way of bringing back memories. Awful memories. She wanted John to remember them. Remember all the good times they had when he'd indulged himself. Remember all things that made him a sad, old piece of shit. 

She pulled back and stumbled off the table. Throwing what she owed the chip show on the table, she limped her way across the street and called a cab. John stayed where he was. His head buried in his hands as he wept quietly.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit scene warning ⚠

There was no more time. D-day had been looming many-a-week, and 'That Day' was now a mere two days away. The arrival of 'That Day' persisted despite the severity of the hard liquor consumption by Clara Oswald. With creeping daylight, the hangover had robbed her of all productivity in the mornings, whereas nights were fuelled by drinking conquests and one night stands with the men at the local pub. The little she did in between those times barely afforded credit towards her thesis work. And, of course, she still kept having those "rose-y" nightmares. Sleeping pills proved to be the best "cure" for it.

"Tenure. What is the fwucking point of it?," slurred Clara. "Some shit faced geezer will pronounce me "unfuckable by HR" and then the fwuck what? Fuck HR."  
"I think, you've had a bit too much, Clara," said Jack.  
"Shud up! It's Miss Oswald to you."  
"Yes, ma'am."

Days away from the mandatory lecture of her thesis to the Fellows, Clara couldn't stop herself from binging late into the night. Sheer stress had eroded all the confidence she once had in herself. If you were to ask her now about those days, that is what she would say. In reality, Clara was facing her demons. She had come to point in her life, where she could not understand the extent of who she was and why she was doing anything. People usually experience this in their mid-lives, but not for Clara. The accident had changed her perspective on life. Time was running out for her. She needed security in something. Tenure would grant her that.

"Ma'am, please let us take you home," said Ashildr.  
"No. I'm fyne," said Clara. "I'm in gweat shape."  
"Miss Oswald," said Jack with immense charm. "I believe, Ashildr is right. I think it's best if we stop here and..."  
Clara laughed.

"Fuck you two," she muttered under her breath. She smiled broadly, "I'm getting a cab."

After handing the cabbie an extra £5 for getting her home safe, Clara limped her way to the elevator. She felt quite sick and began to fumble for the keys. Once at her door, Clara scratched the doorknob for several moments before getting the door to open. Inside, she fell straight to her knees before the toilet and threw up. She crawled into her bathtub and ran the cold shower. The cold water shocked her body. Twice, she slipped and almost knocked herself out in the tub. A cold shower was the best cure for the stupid drunk. It's what Rigsy often said. Having had her stomach empty out all the booze, she floundered around the apartment for pain medication in just a towel. Clara felt every shooting nerve from her "tinman" shoulder in her chest. She was in danger of losing her vision if she did not sit and eat.

The leftover Chinese was all gammy and cold in the fridge. Clara ignored the texture and ate. She could hardly taste ant food anymore. Her head began to clear gradually. Soon, she was on her couch with the laptop on her stomach. She typed in the address to her favorite porn site and clicked on the first video of an young man getting blowed by a fat-arsed middle-aged woman. She watched the seven minute spectacle before she let her hand move down to her own bits. Except her mind began to wander from the scene before her to the image of the teenage couple at the chip shop. Clara imagined the thick prick of the boy inside the slender mouth of the girl. They had quickly proceeded to fucking on the table of the shop. Clara felt herself getting wetter as her fingers quickened the pace over her clit. With a grunt, she came and soon slipped into a nightmare.

***

"Cla...Ra...," rasped Ellie Oswald.  
"M-mum? I'm here, Mum. B-bought you some roses," whispered Clara. Her voice kept catching. In one hand, she was clutching two neatly trimmed roses. The other was placed on the bed beside her mum. She felt her mother's hand grip her wrist tightly. Clara moved her hand over her mother's and kissed her forehead.  
"Clara, no matter wh-at...."  
"N-no, mum," she was sobbing. "Please save your energy!"  
"Clara, no matter what... mum l-loves you."  
The light in Ellie Oswald's eyes went dim as she spoke. Clara saw the two roses in her hand wilt away to ashes.

Suddenly, she found herself near the footsteps of St. Paul's cathedral in London. An ice cream truck was passing. She could hear the chimes. Clara dashed past the gate and towards the truck. She can see her clothes have changed. She's wearing a red dress, exactly like the one the child was wearing in a painting she'd seen somewhere. Rose petals were falling from the sky. She felt her wrist being grabbed. The pain was excruciating, and she turned to face her attacker. It was John. She felt herself being lifted off the ground, John was trying to carry her off to safety. Clara didn't want to go with John. She was angry with him, plus all she wanted was ice cream. She decided to fight him. They wrestled for several moments until Clara hit him in the jaw and he loosened his grip. She makes a run for it, accelerating towards the ice cream truck, unable to stop. She can hear John's screams.

"ROSIE!"

Clara had woken to find herself having landed hard on the floor. She remained still as the pain came and flooded her senses. Tears mingled with the cold sweat across her face.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another explicit scene. I am serious. If you've experienced violence, please do not read. Skip this. There is a reason why I keep these kinds of chapters extremely short.

It was 10 pm. The night was young. Clara was at the pub. She had knocked back two and half pints when she noticed him across the bar. He was celebrating the end of his A-levels with his mates. He saw her and walked over to her. They talked. Discussed his chances for Oxford. Next thing, they were in the alley way, hitting it off at second base, before he turned her up against the wall and rammed his prick up her ass. She didn't fight it because she was too hammered and piqued by his thrust. When he had pulled out, ripped off his condom, and cummed over the wall with a shout. Clara wasn't satisfied, so they left for her apartment nearby. Inside, she stripped off her pants as the young man jerked himself on the sofa.

 "Fuck me! Did you get hit by a van or something?" He said shit-faced. "Thought your face had been bashed in by someone, but blimey, your *insensitive comment*.

 "Are you gonna fuck me," said Clara.

 "Oh, yeah. I'm gonna fuck ye if that's what you want." He said standing with his prick undocked. He deftly slid a condom over it. Clara looked into his eyes and felt uneasy with herself.

 "Maybe, we should...," she began, only to be interrupted by a kiss. Turned her over again, pinning her into the couch. He stuck his fingers into his mouth and then into her cunt. It was a bit on the dry-side, so kneeled and stuck his tongue into it till it was somewhat better. Then, he stuck the thing into her. Clara felt an invisible balloon fill up climb into her throat. She knew she was drawing breath, but she couldn't feel anything. With every thrust, he buried her into the sofa. Her head was spinning. He continued thrusting. She was going numb. He came. She passed out.

 *    *    *

 "The woman I am about to introduce has been with our college for the past five years and seven months. In her time here,  she has done nothing except excelled marvelously in the areas of teaching and scholarship. Among her many accolades, she has only more recently attained a British Academy of Film and Television Award for Screenwriting in Drama for 'Ransom', and The 2016 LaVerne Screenwriter Award for Best Playwright in the stage adaptation of the same title. There is nothing but praise that can be sung about her. Sally Jones of The Guardian has labeled her the "unsung female reincarnate Oscar Wilde", while her students simply refer to her as " the younger Professor McGonagall". Despite the tragedy that behest this young lady, she has fully recovered and still standing tall at five-foot-two. Ladies and gentleman, please welcome the 2017 Margaret Haney Fellowship Award speaker, Miss Clara Ellie Oswald."

The dean stepped back from the podium as thunderous applause sounded across the small auditorium. Clara stood up from her chair and walked slowly towards the podium. She set down her folder and took a deep breath. The auditorium had gone eerily silent. Clara looked up from the mic to find no one.

She swiveled around on the spot. The dean had disappeared. There was absolutely no one around her. She turned back to the audience and was startled by the outline of a figure before her. Clara blinked twice. She couldn't figure out what was happening around her.

 "I'm gonna fuck you, Clara Oswald," said the blurred figure. He closed his hand around her wrist before Clara could run.

 *   *   *

Clara awoke from the shock of the cold.

The thermostat in the apartment had been left to freezing all night. She was on the sofa, under a small blanket, and shivering. The curtains were slightly pulled apart, as if no one had bothered to do anything about them. The little sunlight that bled in hurt Clara's eyes. She tried to get up, but her body weighed her right back into the sofa. On the coffee table, the final proof of the lecture lay unmoved. She felt certain right then that she had been dreaming again. It was only another nine hours till the disaster.

With the AC on full blast and the sun blazing outside, Clara felt pain shoot all over her. Defying her body, Clara rolled her legs over to the floor as she supported herself with the coffee table. From the kitchen counter, she grabbed the pain medication and popped them into her mouth. She dragged herself to the shower. She checked herself. Her vagina burned. It was also full. Her hip and inner thigh were bruised. It slowly dawned what had happened to her. Immediately, she retched. The insides of her emptied itself onto her feet. Despite the shower running, Clara fumbled out of the shower naked and towards her bedside table. From the drawer, she took out two morning after pills and downed it with a swig of water. Crippling exhaustion overcame her as she collapsed into her bed and passed out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fiction. I would appreciate any feedback. Thanks! =)


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